When We Plant the Apple Tree
by tapioca two-step
Summary: Molly dies. Melody Farm falls into divine hands. A story of growing up, even if you're already a god.
1. Seed

**When We Plant the Apple Tree**

Summary: Molly dies. Melody Farm falls into divine hands. A story about growing up, even if you're a god.

_Flashbacks in italics._

* * *

I: Seed

She found him alone on the beach.

She had come to the farm as soon as Finn had told her the news, but the house had been dark and the animals had been asleep and the fields had been unwatered and empty. Even the orchard had been abandoned, and the trees, their dark leaves whispering against each other, cast long, flitting shadows over ground that had been untrodden for days. She wandered like a ghost around the property, a little orange fairy following dejectedly behind her. At last she had seen the harsh glow of light at the edge of the property, and she went softly down the hill to meet the lord of the harvest.

Physically, there was nothing different about him: his bare arms were folded across his chest, his silken robe contrasting beautifully with his olive skin and braided crimson hair. Divine flames stirred at his feet, giving off warm, golden light that was too bright for any human to bear looking at, and if she had been a human she would have been overwhelmed by his might and majesty. Even now, his aloof self-confidence, the obvious grandeur with which he carried himself, gave him the noble air of a statue in a cemetery, but there was something in the line of his shoulders and the way he seemed anchored to the earth that told her that he was struggling with something-a memory, a feeling-that he didn't quite understand. Her heart went out to him and she came up behind him and put a milk white hand on his shoulder. His skin was hot under her palm.

"Oh, Ignis," she said. Her voice was quieter than the foamy waves hissing up the beach.

The Harvest King's sharply angled eyebrows lowered even further over his narrowed eyes, but he made no reply. His scowl was enough to make water boil, but he was a part of her, after all, and she could feel his sorrow as plainly as if it had been her own.

Molly had been precious to her, too.

The shoulder under her hand stiffened, then relaxed. When he spoke, his voice was deep and low and steady, the same voice she had known all through the ages of their mastery over Castanet. "If it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to be alone at the moment."

"Ignis, I'm so sorry."

For the first time, the Harvest King tore his gaze from the horizon and fixed it on the figure beside him. She glowed in the moonlight like the inside of a seashell, her worried eyes the same seafoam color as her dress. Her wings were lined with starlight and her circlet glowed like a halo around her forehead. Sephia, the Harvest Goddess. The mother of this land, his sister, the other side of his coin, and the last person on Castanet he wanted to see.

"There is nothing for you to be sorry about."

A faint line appeared between Sephia's eyebrows. "Please, do not shut me out. I want to mourn with you."

"Death is natural and necessary. She did not suffer and she did not linger. If you must mourn, take comfort in that."

"There is no comfort in thinking of the manner of her death. Ignis, what's gotten into you? You are speaking as if she was a sick cow."

"I should be asking the same of you, Sephia," he returned gravely. "Is there a difference? One death should hardly matter more than another; plant and animal and human lives are all equally brief in our eyes. Let the villagers perform the funeral rites and mourn as they see fit. I am confused as to why you're so desperate to join them. I will have no part in it."

Sephia's frown solidified into a scowl. "You're already a part of it, whether you like it or not. Castanet is ours-its triumphs, its failures, its births and deaths. Do not lie to me and tell me that you feel nothing when a life passes from yours, be it a flower's or a fish's or a person's." Her eyes misted over. "Especially her's."

"I am no liar," he said shortly. "I felt her death, as you did. I do not, however, see any point in dwelling on it. She is gone, like countless others before her, and countless others who have yet to follow her."

"There is nothing wrong with being sad."

"I did not say there was, but making a spectacle of it is pointless. You have spent too much of your time around humans—"

"And you have not spent enough of yours," Sephia said sharply. "You are the lord of this land, but it was she who rang the bells and revived Castanet, and not you. It was she who saved my life, and not you."

Ignis bristled. "The Goddess Tree bloomed again because _I _restored it, Sephia."

"Only because _she _called you to do so. Had she not, I would not be here, and Castanet would be dead. The moment I chose her to save me, she became stronger than me. The moment she called you, she became stronger than both of us. We had nothing to do with Castanet's restoration, Ignis. If Molly hadn't chosen to become the owner of this farm, we would have been lost."

"You presume much." The Harvest King's grim face was dark with unspent anger. "If not her, than someone else from the town would have taken on the task, surely."

The salt wind blew a few strands of Sephia's cerulean hair into her eyes. The expression on her face softened, and she smiled sadly up at him. "Even if you say you owe nothing to her, she walked up the mountain to see you every day. You can't possibly expect me to believe that you weren't her friend."

Ignis returned his gaze to the ocean, watching the moonlight ripple on the waves. This section of the beach was hers, too, although she had told him she was never much of a fisherman. Still, that never stopped her from wading into the water every morning and trying to catch salmon for the white-haired boy in town. From the King's Seat on Mount Garmon he had watched her, casting and reeling and casting again, turning red-faced with equal parts frustration and anger.

She got angry a lot. She also got sad and happy a lot. Usually all in the span of a few minutes. It fascinated him to watch her expressions change.

"_What do you mean, you don't like apples with green skin?"_

_Molly stood before his throne with an apple in her hand. The ribbon around the brim of her straw hat, he noticed, was pale yellow. He couldn't decide which he disliked more. _

"_Just what I mean. If you insist on gifting me with this patch-colored cultivar, I hope you've got a cocktail maker in that rucksack of yours, as that is the only way I'll consume it."_

_Her mouth, which had been gaping open, closed in a stubborn line. "If you insist on being picky," she mimicked, "I guess I'll have to bring one next time." She inspected the apple she had held out to him, then took a juicy bite. "It tastes _fine_," she complained around her mouthful. _

"_Red," he had told her, immovable as the mountain they stood on. "Grow a red apple for me, and I will eat it."_

A tiny, tremulous voice interrupted his memory.

"What's going to happen to the farm?"

The two deities turned their eyes to the voice's owner, the orange harvest sprite that had followed Sephia to the beach. Ignis recognized him as Finn, the sprite that had always accompanied Molly up the mountain on her daily visits, although he always cowered behind her shoulder, as was proper for a sprite to do before the Harvest King. Now, though, etiquette was the last thing on any of their minds. The pom-pom on Finn's triangular hat hung in front of his face, which was tear-streaked and pale, and he wiped tears from his eyes as he spoke.

"She planted crops. There are animals in the barn. What's going to happen to them?"

Sephia spoke as if she was calming a lost sheep. "What seeds did she sow?"

"Wheat," Finn sniffed. "And cocoa and lavender. Thirty squares each. And there are eggs incubating in the coop."

"It's the beginning of the season," Sephia murmured to Ignis. "I assumed the fields had only been ploughed. I did not think she had had time to plant already."

He had known. He had watched her, mere days before, scattering seeds on the dark earth she had turned over and over again with her hoe. She had brought the reek of fertilizer up to the King's Seat when she visited him that night, although she had soaked in the hot spring for nearly an hour to get clean. He had watched that, too.

"She'd be upset if her animals were left alone." Finn was persistent, pleading, looking from Sephia to Ignis with shining eyes. "I can't take care of them all by myself."

"Of course you can't," Sephia said gently. "You shall be helped, even if I have to take up a hoe and a scythe myself." She looked up at the Harvest King. "Ignis, we can't let Melody Farm go fallow. I couldn't live with myself if we undid all of her work."

"So, send the other sprites to seek out other farmers."

"Yes, but what's to be done in the meantime? Let the fields go unwatered, let the animals go unfed? This place is the heart of Castanet."

"_You _are the heart of Castanet," Ignis corrected irritably. "This farm is well tended, yes, and fruitful, but no more blessed than any other plot of land. If the townspeople realize that they need this place to survive, they will preserve it. If Melody Farm must go unworked for a while, so be it. Farming is a human endeavor, and a human endeavor it must remain. We bring the harvest. They sow the seeds."

"How could you?"

Finn's squeaky voice was harsh with betrayal. Forgetting his station, he buzzed right up to Ignis's face, his little wings flapping furiously.

"You're going to forget everything she did for you, just like that?" he demanded, his pom-pom shaking with every movement of his head. "You're going to let the farm die, just because you're too high and mighty to help? You call yourself the Harvest King?"

Ignis tightened his fists against his biceps. "Leave my sight, little firefly," he said dangerously, "and do not presume to speak to me in that manner again."

Finn's face was flushed with anger and tears. "I will," he bawled, his voice like the chirring of cricket's wings. "I'll take care of it just like Molly did, and I'll visit her grave every day and tell her that you hated her, and hated the farm, and hate Castanet!"

Like a tiny comet, the orange sprite streaked away in a shower of sparkles, disappearing over the sand dunes. Ignis unfolded his powerful arms, although Sephia noticed one of his hands was still clenched.

"You didn't have to be so harsh," she reprimanded gently. "He misses her so."

"He should not have gotten so attached to her, then. He has you to thank for that."

"Maybe so." Sephia's hands moved to his wrist. "What are you holding?"

Ignis looked down at her gentle fingers on his skin. He opened his hand for her, and there in his palm lay a tiny black seed.

Curious, Sephia leaned down to inspect it. "My, my. She certainly knew you very well," she said with a sly little smile. "Who exactly sows the seeds, again?"

"Yes, I know," he answered dryly. "She gave this to me."

"Ah. Did she ask you to plant it?"

It was so tiny in his hand, a little brown teardrop, smooth as glass. He was afraid he'd lose it.

_If I did, I could easily make another. _

_But it would not be the one that she had given to me. _

The thought instantly ashamed him.

The ocean reached up with a wave and swirled around Sephia's feet, making her ankle bracelets chime like bells. "You know," she said, almost absently, "they bear fruit in the summer."

She took a dainty step forwards so her gossamer dress floated on the black water and looked backwards at the Harvest God as he closed his hand on the seed once more, struggling to come to terms with the death of someone he didn't realize he loved.

* * *

_A/N: Part one of seven. _


	2. Ground

**When We Plant the Apple Tree**

Summary: Molly dies. Melody Farm falls into divine hands. A story about growing up, even if you're already a god.

_Flashbacks and inner thoughts in italics._

* * *

II: Ground

Molly was barely into her mid-twenties when she died, a victim of intensely hard work and her own treacherous genetics. Her death wasn't so much an accident as it was a surprise, not only to the villagers, but to herself. She died smiling.

For five long years she tilled the land and weeded the fields and husbanded her animals, turning Melody Farm into a triumph of production that had people from Forget-Me-Not Valley to Mineral Town praising her work.

She left behind three cows, a sheep, a horse, a flock of chickens, and an apple seed.

* * *

_Even before the Harvest Sprites' bells rang, he knew Castanet was in trouble. But, as the saying goes, heaven helps those who help themselves, and so he waited. He waited even as the river ran dry and the wind held its breath and the ground turned barren. He waited even as the Goddess Tree began to wilt._

_Just one person, he thought. Surely, one person will work out what needs to be done to breathe life back into this land._

_He was right, as usual. It was one person. Just one person. A farmer. A girl._

_"Save me."_

_The bells were finally ringing; a chorus of five tones tolling in harmony, singing out his name, calling him back. Fire, soil, wind, water and wishes: the desperation in their sweet song was not lost to his ears. For the first time in the long ages of his absence, his hands were needed to tend the land once more._

_"Save me."_

_He formed himself from fire, taking on its color, its heat, its burning brightness. With the song echoing like a symphony in the crystal cold air, he appeared on Mount Garmon's peak, his body draped with claret and ivory robes and his wrists and neck heavy with golden jewelry. He looked every bit the deity that the townspeople had depicted in stained glass in Celesta Church. Pennants of flame swirled stormily around him, frightening away the crowd of harvest sprites circled around his throne, ringing their bells. The song clattered to a stop, and suddenly the only sound on the mountaintop was the sigh of the wind._

_The sprites trembled in front of him, their faces pressed into the snowy ground. Drawing himself to his full, towering height, Ignis pressed his hand to his bare chest._

_"I have heard your call. What would you ask of me?" His deep tone made his fingertips buzz._

_"Oh," said an irreverent voice. It was husky and quiet and harsh all at once; he found it both intriguing and irritating. His ruby eyes sought its owner._

_He hadn't known a human would be here, too._

_She was standing in snow that nearly came up past her rubber boots, shivering because she was only wearing a skirt and a wool sweater. Her brown hair was a tousled mess around her face, and her earth-colored eyes regarded him with muted awe, as if she hadn't expected him to show up. Her hands, clad in white gardener's gloves, were pressed over her bony hips. She was tall, and gangly, and her wiry muscles moved like a foal's under her dirt-smeared, incredibly sunburned skin._

_Next to the human, her hands clasped in prayer, stood Sephia. The goddess's pearly luminescence had drained from her skin and hair, but her smile was the same as it had been all those years ago when they had last parted, and she looked not a day older. Ignis's intrigue vanished, replaced by amazement. She looked mortal. She looked weak._

_"Ignis," Sephia whispered. "The tree."_

_It had been harder to resurrect the Goddess Tree than he had been willing to admit. It was dry under his touch, dry and dying, and he poured his energy into it until it overflowed, until his power chased out every seed of weakness and sickness and death that lurked in the roots. He lit up the entire grove with his energy, and everything began to glow—even the farmer, who looked at herself in wonder as a glimmering outline appeared on her skin._

_Ignis only lifted his hands from the tree trunk when the first green buds timidly unfolded, like butterflies emerging from cocoons. A perfect imprint of his fingers remained on the bark._

_"You should have told her to hurry."_

_The three of them—two deities and one farmer—stood alone in front of the Goddess Tree, long after the townspeople had ceased their joyous celebration of its resurrection and gone home for the night. The tree shivered in the wind, drooping once again with silvery green leaves, its bark so deep brown it was almost red. The farmer had left them to their quiet conversation and was hovering awkwardly by the pond with Finn._

_Sephia's voice was soft and musical when she finally spoke. "I trusted her." She shone once more, perfectly healthy and perfectly beautiful._

_"Sephia, do you realize how close she was to being too late?"_

_Smiling, she did not answer._

"_M'name's Molly."_

_Ignis turned. The farmer was right behind him. He smelled her before he saw her: sweat and earth on her skin, freshly harvested onions on her gloves. She was standing so closely that the flames that surrounded him stirred her hair, too. Her head only came up to his shoulder, but there was a challenge in her eyes when he met her gaze. _

"_I heard you talking about me," she said in her sandpapery voice. "I want you to know I worked as fast as I could. I was doing my best the whole time."_

_Behind her, still by the pond, a mortified Finn hissed, "Molly, no! Remember what we talked about! Respect! Respect!"_

"_Finn, did you hear him talking? Like all I did was sit and scratch my butt all day!" The farmer—Molly—threw up her hands. "Was he around to do any of the hoeing? How about the harvesting? Or the fetching of vaguely specific items?" Taking his appalled silence for guilt, she sniffed disdainfully at him. "Thought so."_

_Beside him, Sephia put a hand over her mouth to hide her smile. "He has been away for a long, long time, Molly. He was just surprised that everything has changed. The Harvest Lord is indeed overjoyed that harmony has been restored to Castanet. We both thank you for what you've done, from the bottom of our hearts."_

_The ire on Molly's face faded into grudging acceptance, and she made a noncommittal noise. "I'm just happy you're feeling better, Harvest Goddess," she finally said. "If I can do anything else for you, at any time, please call me. I'll come." _

_The words were more sincere than a prayer, and Sephia reached out and grasped Molly's filthy hands, making Ignis flinch. Silent and shocked, he looked from one woman to the other, wondering just how his sweet Sephia could have made friends with such a brat. _

_And then, with inexcusable confidence, Molly leaned in and, thinking that Ignis couldn't hear, whispered in Sephia's ear, "His head is kind of big, isn't it?"_

_So went the first meeting between the bringer of the harvest and the sower of seeds. _

* * *

_Ignis had claimed the King's Seat long ago, back when the land and sea around the mountain were wild and free, inhabited by none but feral animals and unchecked forests that grew straight down to the rocky shoreline. After his Summoning, he chose to stay, and took his place on his solitary throne once more, preparing to join his counterpart in her task as Castanet's guardian. If Castanet's hero was someone who had, unwittingly, almost caused its destruction, he could not risk leaving again. _

_A wave of his hand had parted the clouds swirling below his vantage point, and he looked down at the world for the first time in ages to see just how much it had changed._

_The first thing he noticed was that her house was dilapidated. The barn and the coop were not. _

_The ploughed field directly in front of her house had been planted from end to end with five or six different kinds of crops, looking more like an overgrown jungle than anything. Her livestock—three cows, a sheep, a horse, and a flock of chickens—wandered in and out of this forest, knocking corncobs off their stalks, crushing onions and lilies underfoot. They were all preened and fat and content, soaking up the late afternoon sunshine._

_He had given a disdainful snort and turned his view to the western corner of her property.  
_

_That's when he noticed that she had an apple orchard._

* * *

He appeared on the slope of the hill like the breaking sunrise, and although dawn was some hours away, he cast light wherever he walked. He inspected the cocoa bean pods and lifted the pale purple lavender flowers and sank his fingers into the moist soil to examine how recently it had been watered. Knowing the animals would become fretful if he approached the barn, he instead moved across the bridge, as if in a dream, and walked up and down between the rows of apple trees. Their branches sprawled over his head in a canopy of leaves and pink, sweet smelling flowers. Winter had barely ended and already the trees were blooming, ready to bear fruit.

He found Finn in the last row, digging at an empty square of dirt with a tiny stick, an orange sapling beside him. If he noticed the Harvest King's presence, he did not immediately acknowledge it, and Ignis was content to watch him in silence, listening to the chirping crickets and feeling the grass tickle his ankles.

Finn set his stick aside and swiped at his dirty face with the back of his hand. His voice was hoarse when he spoke.

"That should be deep enough, shouldn't it, Harvest King?"

"It will do."

Finn nodded once, then grabbed the orange sapling by the root ball, which was wrapped in a small burlap bag. Ignis's fists tightened.

"Don't plant that one," he said. "I have something that is much more important."

Dumbfounded, Finn tilted his head. "But she wanted oranges—"

He wisely closed his mouth when Ignis held out one hand, palm up, to show him the little seed that lay cupped there.

"It needs to grow," Ignis said, very quietly.

Understanding was slow in coming, but finally the little harvest sprite dropped his head and shivered as tears streamed down his face again, and he made a weak gesture towards the freshly dug hole. Without fanfare, Ignis knelt on the ground and placed the seed into the hole and scooped loose soil over it.

It had been so, so long since he had helped create new life. He watched the pile of dirt intently, as if he was expecting the tree to burst from the ground like a geyser of leaves and bark and apples, freshly grown, red and glowing. He didn't even notice that his impeccable robes were becoming saturated with dew or that his braid was dragging in the dirt.

After a moment, Finn fidgeted. "It…it might need help."

Ignis shook his head. "I cannot do what you are asking. I cannot tamper nature's design."

"You don't have to tamper," Finn said quickly, "but you could help. We usually plant them out here when they're already seedlings, you know, when they've sprouted. I mean, I know you know what a seedling is. It's just that I don't want it to die because I can't take care of it very well. I mean, I won't not take care of it, but I've got so much to do around here, and I might forget, and just—"

Relenting, perhaps, because of the pitiful look on Finn's face, or because the heaviness in his chest was becoming painful, Ignis gently placed one hand over the little mound of dirt. "Just a little," he said, eyes flashing, summoning his immeasurable strength to do something as insignificant and pointless and heartbreaking as helping Molly's seed to grow.

"Not too much," Finn agreed, fluttering his wings and watching the light beneath Ignis's palm grow in intensity. "I don't think she'd like it if she knew you helped it too much."

Between his fingers, a tiny green sprout poked up from the soil, growing rapidly. When two perfect, teardrop shaped leaves sprouted on either side of the stem, Ignis lifted his hand.

_"You're going to love it," she had told him with a beaming smile. "Just do me one favor and take care of it for me."_

"I will come tomorrow," he said, in a strangely strangled voice, and disappeared in a flash of light.

* * *

_A.N. Two of seven. Somehow, my Molly became a pretty harsh person. Haha._

_I know Edge's bell is referred to as the "Heart" bell, but that made me think too much of Captain Planet, and I don't need to be giggling while writing an angst fic. Also, I love alliteration. :3 (Although, a story where Molly rings the five bells and summons Captain Planet instead of the Harvest King would make for an excellent crack fic.)_

_My writing tends to have tons of "ands" and commas. Commas and semicolons. It's a very clunky style, so please forgive it. :)_


	3. Sunlight

**When We Plant the Apple Tree**

Summary: Molly dies. Melody Farm falls into divine hands. A story about growing up, even if you're a god.

_Flashbacks and inner thoughts in italics._

* * *

III: Sunlight

Some said that the Harvest King was born when a star fell from the heavens and landed on Mount Garmon. It burned there for days, and when the rain finally came and quenched the flames, there he stood, a pile of seeds in one hand and a mound of soil in the other. These he used to form Castanet, by throwing first the soil then the seeds over the side of the mountain. Other legends said that he had been a poor farmer on the verge of starvation who climbed Mount Garmon to beg assistance from the gods, and in doing so, became a god himself. They said that when he came back to his farm as a god and working the land, the sweat that dripped off of his skin sank into the earth and became seeds that grew into towering apple trees.

Other tales claimed he was a demon that had once been sealed in the mountain by the Harvest Goddess herself, and if farmers didn't pay sufficient tribute to him, he'd call down the sun from the sky and consume Castanet in fire. Some said the Harvest Goddess, the Mother of All Things, had given birth to him, and together they had planted every tree, bush, and blade of grass that was growing in the land.

Truthfully, Ignis did not remember how he came to be, although he was sure that, unlike Sephia, he hadn't always held sway over the harvest. If he had been something other than what he was—whether a demon, or a farmer, or a star—all stories were the same to him. He was what he was, even if he couldn't remember how he had transcended mortality.

Whatever the circumstances of his origin, though, the immortal Ignis was still acutely aware of two specifically mortal senses: the sweet taste of apples, and what it felt like to burn.

* * *

_He could feel Molly punishing the earth with her hoe._

_She was soaked with sweat, her hair swept back behind a red bandanna, her tank top clinging to her back muscles as she worked. She raised the hoe above her head and brought it slamming down again and again, pulverizing chunks of earth with each blow. She wasn't using gloves, and although her hands were tough with callouses, blisters were already forming where her fingers were digging into the handle._

_Earlier that morning, Molly had gone into town carrying a slice of pound cake on a plate. She had decorated the top with pieces of colored sugar arranged in the shape of a fish. She'd grinned at everyone she passed and asked how their days were going, yes, the farm was doing well, yes, this was a new dress, and yes, she had stayed up half the night making the cake, but she was happy with the way it had finally turned out._

_But then she had reached the Fishery, and had seen two people fishing at the very edge of the pier: a boy and a girl, sitting so closely together that their shoulders were touching. The girl wore a pink dress, not unlike Molly's, and the boy's snowy white hair was damp with seawater. His straw hat was perched on the girl's head. Molly's eyes flicked from the boy to the girl and back again._

_The girl turned her head and whispered something in the boy's ear. He chuckled and patted her affectionately on the knee._

_Molly had turned on her heel and walked straight back to her farm, and had been working outside in stony silence ever since._

_Suddenly her hands tightened on the handle and she struck the ground as hard as she could, spooking the chickens that were fluttering at her feet looking for worms. She had to yank three times on the handle to free the tip of the hoe again. For a few minutes afterwards she was calm, her movements strong and easy and measured. Then her face crumpled and she was back to swinging the hoe like an axe._

_She turned the field over and over until the black soil was as fine as sand, until there wasn't a square inch of dirt left for her to work, until the sky was purple with twilight and her animals were stamping impatiently because she hadn't opened the barn doors for them yet. The moon was sailing with the stars through a clear indigo sky when she finally secured the barn and the coop and walked stiffly over to the well, filthy and exhausted and heartbroken. Her bandanna served as a loofah as she scrubbed the filth and sweat from her skin with a bucket of icy water._

_When she caught the reflection of Mount Garmon's peak in the bucket, she turned her head over her shoulder and stared._

_She could see his glow. _

* * *

_Despite being properly dressed this time, the cold slapped her in the face when she finally emerged from the mine. Her breath came in white puffs as she climbed the arching stone bridge that spanned the foggy chasm between the mountain and the King's Seat. The stones were cracked and old and terrifyingly high up, but her focus was on keeping her balance and not dropping the plate of cake that she carried._

_He was facing east, his arms folded across his chest, and did not see her approach. She had to clear her throat several times to get him to notice her._

_"I have something for you," she said abruptly, trying not to flinch when he turned to face her. His light was harsh against her eyes and was as hot as a bonfire, and his intimidating height immediately made her feel inferior, which in turn made her angry with him._

_"I made this. I figured you might as well have it," she said gruffly, thrusting the plate at him. "Here."_

_He dropped his gaze to it, inspecting the fluffy frosting and the meticulous decorations with an impassive look._

_"What do you wish me to do with it?" he finally asked, his arms still folded._

_Molly's eyes narrowed. "Maybe you could try putting it in your mouth. That's what people usually do with food." She waved her foot at a few brown sparrows that had landed by her feet. "Go on, shoo."_

_Ignis watched the birds take flight. Annoyance drew a line between his eyebrows. "You are giving me a gift?"_

_"Well, I don't have anybody else to give it to," she said bitterly. He heard tears in her scratchy voice, but her eyes were dry. "Come on, eat it already. I don't have all night."_

_"No thank you."_

_Her eyes narrowed to brown slits. Fingers crushing the borders of the plate, she ground out, "What did you say?"_

_"I don't want it."_

_Her cheeks turned apple red. "Take it." When he didn't answer again, she stomped up the three steps of his stone dais and thrust the plate practically under his nose._

_"I did not come all this way to get rejected again," she choked._

_Rude. Rude and overbearing, with a personality that made the fire around him blaze even more intensely. She looked so small and mortal under the moon, no different in his eyes than the stones under her feet or the sparrows flitting around his throne, and yet she stood here, mouthing off to him like he was merely one of her neighbors, as if there wasn't anything peculiar about her appearing at his throne in the middle of the night. She exhausted his patience just by standing there._

_He decided to make the visit as quick and painless as possible and held his hand out for the plate. Immediately a sparrow landed in the crook of his elbow, cocking its head as Molly gave him her offering._

_"Hope you like it," she muttered into her shoulder. She turned on her heel to go, then seemed to remember something. She patted the pockets of her cargo pants and hissed, "Shoot, I forgot a fork."_

_Ignis shook his head. "I do not need one."_

_"But how are you…?"_

_"I am not incredibly fond of cake," he told her, as two more sparrows alit on his wrist and hopped onto the plate. Their feet made tiny tapping noises on the porcelain as they ate._

_Molly could only watch as the Harvest King allowed the birds to peck the cake apart, crumb by crumb. "Do you know how long it took to make that?" she blurted out. "Birds don't even like cake!"_

_He didn't answer her. He was watching the birds with half-lidded eyes. They didn't seem to be afraid of him, or his fire, or the way he seemed to be angry at everything around him. Defeated, Molly watched as her carefully constructed fish decoration was eaten, one sugary piece at a time. Finally she sighed. "All right, then, is there anything that you are incredibly fond of?"_

_"Peace."_

_She flushed in equal parts anger and embarrassment. "Didn't know it was such an inconvenience for you to be given a present," she spat. "Everyone else on Castanet seems to like them. Do you know how many gallons of tea I had to make during my first summer here?"_

_The birds scattered again as Ignis handed the empty plate back to her. "It is not necessary to bring gifts to me," he said curtly. "You will please me by continuing to protect Sephia. Grow your apples and attend to your animals. Do not waste my time by coming here again."_

_Molly tapped the plate against her thigh, considering him as he turned his back to her. Then, scowling, she crunched through the moonlit snow and disappeared into the mine._

_Ignis did not watch her leave._

* * *

The next day, a scorching sun rose in a cloudless sky. The unseasonable heat baked the grassy ground hard as bread loaves and, by noon, had wilted every green thing growing in Castanet. There wasn't even a breath of wind to blow away the blanket of stale, heavy air that lay over the earth. Those who didn't have crops and animals to take care of packed lunches and headed to the beach, although Jin and Irene remained posted at the clinic in case someone at Marimba Farm or Horn Ranch succumbed to heat exhaustion.

The excited squeals and intermittent laughter coming from the beach didn't quite reach Melody Farm, which was eerily silent and still. Usually, the farm in high spring was filled with movement and sound, bursting with life like a budding tree. Molly would be working outside no matter the temperature, the crops rustling against her legs as she patrolled through her fields. The house windows would be open so she could hear the weather report on the television, the windmill would be humming and creaking overhead in the breeze.

But Molly had been buried already, so she hadn't flung the windows open and hadn't picked up the watering can to rescue the parched crops. The livestock hadn't been let out of the barn, preferring its fan-cooled shade to the sweltering outdoors, and the chickens clucked within the coop, ignorant of everything except the fact that they had been fed.

But the fields were wet and dark although there had been no rain, and the gathering basket had been filled with apples and had been placed by the barn's shipping container. And although Finn had been sleeping under one of Molly's shirts all day, the cows had been milked and the eggs had been gathered and several comforting words had been said to Abriel, Molly's horse, who was fretful and stressed after not having been ridden for such an extended period of time.

In the large field, sans his golden jewelry and crimson ceremonial cloak, Ignis was punishing the earth with Molly's hoe. He had slipped his arms out of the sleeves of his white tunic and had tied the loose material around his narrow hips. If he was going to act like a common farmer, he might as well look like one. He was only mildly surprised when he started to sweat.

Molly had done this. She had worked and sweated and cried over this land, yanking fruitfulness out of the reluctant soil like she was pulling weeds. She fought and failed and planted and harvested until Castanet had finally begun to breathe again. All without his help-He who could make mountains or crush them, He who summoned the Harvest, He who was born from fire but didn't know that he had been burning with the love the whole time.

In the orchard, the apple seedling basked in the sun, water still gleaming on its leaves.

* * *

_A.N. __My apologies for the delay. The good news is that I've got the next chapter done (which was more fun to write than this one), so I'll post that on Saturday. _


	4. Rain

**When We Plant the Apple Tree**

Summary: Molly dies. Melody Farm falls into divine hands. A story about growing up, even if you're a god.

_Flashbacks in italics. _

* * *

IV: Rain

With springtime being as hot and dry as it had been, it was little wonder to anybody in Castanet when a thick haze of clouds formed on the eastern horizon near the end of the season. By midmorning, the haze had darkened to an ominous slate gray and a cold wind was gusting towards the ocean across the miles of empty, rolling hills. The weather forecasters predicted that the storm would blow in around late afternoon and last the entire night, bringing with it high winds, hail, and the occasional bolt of lightning. It would be too dangerous for anyone to be out in, and all over the peninsula the farmers and ranchers were spending the precious few sunlit hours covering young crops and herding animals back into barns for shelter.

"Come on in, Moojuice and Dandy!" Finn's tiny voice rang out from Melody Farm's barn. "You're going to get wet if you dawdle!"

Two black and white cows pushed their way out of the dry stalks of wheat waving in the largest field, meandering up the slope of the pasture to the barn. Finn shooed them further in and did a last minute head count. Cows, sheep, and horse—everyone was safely inside, chewing hay and watching him with liquid eyes as he closed and barred the doors. Molly usually took the opportunity bad weather provided to grind wheat or flax or coffee, but Finn couldn't bear the thought of working alone in the storm. He'd be staying inside with the animals tonight.

"It's okay, Leeman," he said softly as he settled down on the sheep's woolly head and patting it, more to assure himself than the animal. "It'll be sunny again soon."

Finn knew the crops desperately needed the rain, but he couldn't shake the uneasy feeling in his stomach that he got whenever he heard the distant, quiet, ominous rumbles of thunder.

* * *

_The Harvest King had warned Molly not to return to Mount Garmon. If she had been anybody else, she would have heeded the direct order from the deity and stayed away from the King's Seat for the rest of her life. However, being Molly, she didn't. _

_"I have the entire town literally eating out of the palm of my hand," she told Finn one day as they staggered back from Marimba Farm with exotic seeds and rich fertilizer. "If he thinks he's chased me away by being standoffish, he's got another thing coming."_

_Finn flinched. "He can hear you, you know," he hissed at her._

_"Good. Then he'll be expecting me."_

_She grew every fancy plant that she could of: strawberries and hyacinth, sunflowers and lilies, honeydew so round and mint green that seeing them covered with dew in the mornings nearly brought tears to her eyes. She set her best tasting milk aside in the back of her fridge and washed Leeman's wool until he ran away when he saw her coming with the brush. _

_At the end of each week, she'd button her coat and pull her wool hat down over her ears and take her selected gift up to Mount Garmon. Those living in the mining district grew accustomed to seeing her stormy, furious expression each time stomped down again, although they could hardly guess what had happened to put her in so foul a mood every time. _

_After a while, her gifts began to get more extravagant. Spaghetti carbonara, shining flax, a montblanc made with the finest example of a chestnut that she'd ever laid eyes on. Without fail, the Harvest God would give her—and her offering—a dismissive glance over his shoulder and instruct her to leave. There were no words of greeting and none of farewell. She felt like one of the sparrows she had shooed away during her first visit. After weeks of this ridiculous cycle, Finn confronted her. _

"_I'm worried about you," he squeaked at her one morning, fluttering by her shoulder as she weeded the smaller field on her hands and knees. Dawn was yet hours away. "You're not sleeping or eating and you're neglecting the farm. You know that the Harvest Lord isn't going to like anything you bring him. What's gotten into you?" _

_Molly's scythe swipes were steady and unhurried. "It's funny," she said, half to herself. "I was wondering the exact same thing." _

"_You're going to make yourself sick if you keep going like this!"_

"_Look," she said, more sharply than she intended to, "I know it seems stupid, but I've gotta do it. He just stands up there, and he's alone, and it's day after day, month after month of just existing. I know what that feels like, Finn. When I first got here, that's all I did, was exist. Some days I felt like I was dead, but I existed. And the only thing that kept me going was this run down, beat up, half dead piece of land. But what's he got? Nothing. A rock to stand on. Some fancy jewelry. That's it."_

_Finn blubbered. "But Molly, he's a god…."_

_She yanked out another weed. "Doesn't matter. He thinks he's got everyone fooled with that kingly and aloof manner of his, but I know better. You say he's a god, fine. He might be. But he's got a farmer's hands." _

_After she accidentally dropped her latest offering—raspberry pie with a lattice crust—while coming back down the mountain, she crossed 'pastries' off of her list and went to see Sephia._

_"I'm at my wits' end. I don't know how much more of this schlepping I can take, Harvest Goddess. Doesn't he realize I'm trying to be polite? Is he even human?"_

_Sephia sat on the marble steps next to her pond, her feet submerged in the glittering water and the trailing hem of her skirt piled in her lap. Twirling a pinkcat flower between her fingers and watching the colorful little harvest sprites play in the grass around her, she was the perfect picture of spring. "I don't know what gave you the idea that he was."_

_"You know what I mean. If I had to stand alone in the snow on top of a mountain, day after day, I'd be thankful for the company and a present. Why won't he let me be nice to him?"_

_"Offering him things that he hates is far from being nice, Molly," Sephia reminded her with a smile, her diadem flashing in the sunlight._

_"He's got to like something. He can't not like everything." _

_"He probably likes being alone, Molly."_

_Molly wasn't in the mood to be rebuffed. Somehow, despite being used to back-breaking farm work, the long morning of being hunched over planting turnips and cabbages already had her back and shoulders aching, she'd stupidly tripped over and spilled two canisters of milk as she was setting up to ship them, and there was an irritating tickle in the back of her throat that had formed as she'd descended the mountain the night before. She got sick all the time now, which killed both her performance at the farm and her social life. She was always at the clinic, chugging Irene's spicy-tasting cold medicine like it was tea, but whenever Doctor Jin told her that maybe she shouldn't make so many trips to the King's Seat, she wouldn't listen to a word of it._

_It wouldn't be so bad if he'd just throw me a freaking bone, she thought furiously, and then continued aloud, "I'm running out of options. Soon I'm going to start bringing him weeds."_

_"Oh, definitely not," Sephia chided. "Do not be disrespectful to the Harvest King just because he does not behave like a fawning child when you offer him gifts."_

_"I don't expect him to fawn; I just want him to be civil. You're nice to me even if I bring you something you don't particularly like."_

_Sephia smiled at the drooping pink flower in her hand. "He has not interacted with humans for a very long time," she said, almost wistfully. "You'll have to forgive him for being so brusque. If you've made him upset, let him be for a while." _

_Subdued, Molly studied her workworn boots and scowled, chewing her dry lips. _

_Sephia looked up from dragging the pinkcat's petals in the water. When she noticed the faintest pink blush on Molly's cheeks, she smiled. "So that's how it is," she said softly. _

_Molly stopped scuffing her boots against the ground. "What?"_

_Sephia closed her eyes, listening to the crickets chirring in the long grass next to the pool. Molly had to wait several uncomfortable minutes before the Goddess spoke again. "A long time ago, the Harvest King spent almost as much time with humans as I do now," she told Molly solemnly. "Castanet was very young then, as were we. Harmonica Town was nothing but a grassy hill and the first diamond had not yet been mined from Mount Garmon. But there were a few farms, and a few farmers, and seeds were planted and crops grown. They were not the seeds of exotic fruits or delicate flowers. They were hardy seeds that produced simple and straightforward crops, like corn and cotton and apples. The Harvest King was pleased with how they grew and blessed the land. That was how his favor was won. That was how the farmers showed their love." _

_Molly had been absently nodding her head as Sephia told her story, but suddenly she stiffened as if she'd been struck, her eyes wide. "Say that again." she said._

"_I said, the farmers showed their love by growing simple crops. You don't have to work yourself to death trying to—" _

_But Molly was already backpedaling away from the pond, interrupting her. "Ah, uh, yeah, I won't. T-thanks for the story, Harvest Goddess, but I just remembered that I have to go do something back at the farm, but thanks—thanks a lot!"_

_She spun and hurried out of the glade. A surprised Sephia listened to the clumsy crunching of leaves and twigs under the farmer's boots as it faded into the distance, and then burst into bell-like laughter._

_Colin, the yellow soil sprite who was no bigger than an oak leaf, fluttered up to the Harvest Goddess. "Jeez, Sephia, what's gotten into you, telling on Lord Ignis like that?"_

_Relaxing her fingers, the Harvest Goddess dropped the pinkcat into the glassy pool. "I wonder," she said with a sly smile. _

_Molly ran all the way back to her farm, her heart pounding in her chest with equal parts exhaustion and excitement. She had not yet stopped to consider the fact that Sephia had just accused her of being in love with the Harvest God. Her mind was filled with triumph. __Apples__, she thought, exhilarated. __Apples, apples!_

_The orchard had been planted long before she had purchased the property, and the apple trees stood tall and gnarled in neat rows on the west side of the farm. They were the easiest trees to take care of, resistant to disease and drought. A sickening amount of apples grew on the boughs, round and beautiful, shiny skins patched with red and gold and green. Every summer, she spent days turning them into pies and jams and cakes. She threw them by the handful to her animals at the end of the season and left barrels of them out for passerby to snack on, and everyone who attended the New Year's Festival looked forward to drinking Melody Farm's Almost Famous apple cocktails._

_Grow your apples, __he had instructed. She should have thought of it before. He'd already told her what he wanted. Breathlessly, she turned the sharp corner off the path onto her property, calling, "Finn! I need a basket!" _

"_Oh! Molly!"_

_The voice wasn't Finn's. Molly tripped to a halt as somebody came around the corner of her house. Somebody wearing a pink dress and the fisherman's straw hat. Renee._

"_I've been looking for you. Do you have a moment to talk?"_

_Renee's voice was so hesitant and soft that Molly had a hard time hearing it over the mild breeze. She swallowed hard, fighting down the sudden anger that had surged in her chest. Clueless Renee had no reason not to come to Molly for advice. Hadn't the two of them spent hours together when Molly first came to Castanet, talking about raising animals, racing horses, the importance of family? Hadn't Molly introduced Renee to Toby, saying that she needed to make friends?_

_Seeing the way Renee's eyes were shining and the easy smile on her face, Molly already knew what her unwitting rival was going to ask her about. _

"_Sure," she said brightly. "Do you want to come inside for some tea?"_

* * *

_The night that Renee told Molly that she intended to confess to Toby, Molly scaled Mount Garmon with a single apple in her hand. She was nearly in tears when she reached the top, although she didn't understand why. _

_He sat on the steps of his throne, head tilted towards the stars. She must have caught him off guard, for when he saw her ascending the stone steps, he stood quickly, as graceful and silent as a stag. _

_Crunching up to him, she stopped just outside the radius of his glow. His ruby eyes scanned her shivering frame as if she was some insect who had wandered into his palace. She wanted to tell him what she had told Finn, but her voice was as frozen as the rest of her. It was all she could do to raise her gloved hands and offer him the apple. _

_If this doesn't work, I'll never come back up here again._

_To be alone here, to be separated from the sun and the soil and the rain, to be the bringer of the harvest but not the harvester, to live above the world when he belonged in it—this was something she could not accept. _

"_I want you to take this," she begged. _

_His gaze dropped to the piece of fruit. It seemed to her like the whole world was holding its breath. _

_But when the Harvest God reached out to accept it, she thought, No, it's just me. _

_It was the last day of summer. Half a year had already passed since their first meeting. _

_Already their time together was running out.  
_

* * *

The storm was as fierce as any Finn had been through. All through the night, the barn was pummeled with sheets of rain that sounded like the ocean was trying to pour through the roof, the wind found every crack and seam in the walls and screamed through them, and each crack of thunder shook the ground and nearly deafened the little sprite. Fortunately, the animals were calm creatures, bothered by no mere springtime storm, and they waited it out with patience that made Finn feel embarrassed by his fright.

When it was finally over, he went outside to assess the damage. The barn had lost beams from its roof, all the windows in Molly's house had shattered, and the makeshift water tower behind the chicken coop had been reduced to a pile of timber, but by far the worst damage was in the orchard. Finn flew slowly down the once-neat rows, marveling at the destruction the storm had wrought. Four cherries. Half the oranges. Eight chestnuts and as many coffee trees. All uprooted, they lay on their sides like beached ships, branches tangled together, mangled fruit smashed into the ground. They'd all have to be dragged into a pile and burned, and new trees planted in their place. He'd need Lord Ignis's help with all of that.

To his relief, the apple trees had fared better than the rest. Their roots were too strong, their trunks too sturdy to be disturbed by a passing tempest. Their branches still held leaves and were heavy with fruit. Finn was just about to congratulate himself on his good luck when he came to the place where he and Ignis had planted Molly's seed.

The little sapling had been split in half.

* * *

_A.N. No excuses for the time it took me to post this. Forgive me. _

_This story will probably stop at eight chapters, so we're halfway there!_


	5. Sprout

**When We Plant the Apple Tree**

Summary: Molly dies. Melody Farm falls into divine hands. A story about growing up, even if you're a god.

_Flashbacks and inner thoughts in italics._

* * *

V: Sprout

"Is it dead?"

A disconsolate Finn hovered just over the Harvest God's glowing shoulder as the deity bent over the apple sapling. The sprite had gone bawling to Sephia when he had seen the damage to Molly's tree, and Sephia had called Ignis down from his mountain to see what could be done.

The apple tree was indeed in bad shape. It had been growing steadily for weeks and had shot up to nearly three feet in height, springy and spongy and able to withstand high winds and rain, but the storm had brought down branches from trees much larger than it. One of these branches had happened to land on the sapling where its own first branches, leaves just beginning to bud, had grown from its trunk. Ignis, cradling the broken half in his hand, mused over it silently as Finn bawled himself to hysterics above him.

"I should have covered it," Finn lamented, "I should have b-been out here with it. Now it's dead, and it's all m-my fault!"

Ignis grimaced as he felt the tiny drops of Finn's tears land on his shoulder. "Don't be ridiculous," he said stiffly. "You would have been blown away. Instead, you should have thought of protecting this tree before you took shelter. Fortunately," he added over Finn's rising sobs, "while this break is unfortunate, it is not beyond repair."

Finn hiccupped, his hat slipping down over his eyes. "R-really? You're sure?"

Ignis felt the sapling breathing, living, as surely as he would if he were holding a sparrow. Beyond what he felt, though, he saw what Molly would have seen: the new wood within the broken bark still showing green and moist, the branches in his hands still supple, the budding leaves still firmly attached. It could be saved, and it wouldn't take an act of god to do so.

"I need twine," he said, trying to remember. "And softened beeswax, and a knife."

Finn rushed off towards the farmhouse, flying in through one of the broken windows. Ignis listened to him rustling around in Molly's toolbox before returning, laden with a clean ball of twine, Molly's candle-making wax in a small jar, and a half-open pocket knife. His flight path was as erratic as a drunk bumblebee's.

Ignis carefully trimmed away the ragged slivers of bark around the edges with the knife before pressing the two broken sections together. With expert hands he guided the twine around the break, spacing each pass evenly apart and tying the twine tightly when he had finished. He wrapped another length of twine over the break again, this time starting farther down the trunk to provide more support.

"It looks like a bandage," Finn noted as Ignis dipped his fingers into the beeswax. With gentle strokes, he coated the wax on the parts of the break that showed between the rows of twine. _Grow, _he thought. _Live and grow._

"Wow, Harvest God," Finn breathed as Ignis stood to review his handiwork. "I didn't know you knew how to do stuff like that."

The red-haired deity scowled at him. "Impertinent little firefly. What use was there in asking for my help, if you doubted your lord?"

Finn grabbed the edges of his hat and cowered behind a leaf. "N-no, I didn't mean it like that! I meant that I didn't think you'd bother with the old fashioned way of doing things."

Ignis looked down, feeling the weight of the pocket knife in his hand. The paint on the handle was wearing off, the blade a little rusted. His fingertips were slick with beeswax.

"It looks better already, doesn't it?" Finn buzzed around the sapling, giggling. The wind breathed through its branches and it shivered, but the twine held firm and the wax remained sealed over the seam in the wood. Soon enough it would grow together again, and nothing would remain of the break but a tiny scar.

Despite himself, Ignis was pleased.

Perhaps he had been a farmer after all.

* * *

_Dressed in the only formal dress she owned, Molly sat behind the buffet table that she'd helped set up for Toby's and Renee's wedding feast, her chin propped up on her hands and her elbows resting on her knees. The tiled courtyard in front of Celesta Church was filled with people singing, dancing, drinking and eating. Strings of clear bulbs that had been hung from one light pole to the next cast a warm golden glow on the celebration. Nearly everyone in town had come to see the moon-haired fisherman and the gentle farmer girl say their vows to each other, including Molly, who had brought bouillabaisse by the gallon and fresh herb tea. On the tables next to hers were steaming platters of vegetable fried rice from Marimba Farm and coolers full of mint ice cream from Horn Ranch. The air smelled of delicious food and fresh salt wind off the ocean, and was filled with music and laughter. _

_She yawned. The party was still in full swing, even though they'd started just after noon and the cloudless sky was purpling into twilight above them. She'd have loved to join the festivities if she'd had any energy to do so. Harvest season was fast approaching, along with innumerable festivals and birthdays to prepare for. She had a field full of bluemist flowers to harvest and two of her cows were pregnant. On top of that, Molly's new special project was taking up more time than she liked to admit to herself. Even thinking about it made her shoulders and back ache. She told herself it was for a good cause and looked for a distraction to take her mind off of her creeping exhaustion. _

_Her eyes scanned the crowd, tracing over Jin and Anissa sharing a plate of food on the bench at the overlook, Julius trying to coax a cocktail into a flush-faced Candace, and the two dancing newlyweds, resplendent in traditional wedding garb, dancing in the middle of a throng of clapping townsfolk. Molly swallowed hard. She hadn't known that Toby knew how to dance so well. _

"_Hey, girlie! Can we get some chow?" _

_Kathy's cheerful voice interrupted her thoughts before they could turn gloomy. She sat up straighter to see the blonde equestrian running up to the table with her husband Owen in tow. Kathy had braided her ponytail and Owen's dark red hair had been slicked back. _

"_I've been smelling this stuff all night and I've been starving for it," Kathy told her, grabbing a bowl and filling it with bouillabaisse, "but I couldn't peel this oaf away from the dance floor long enough to get any. Good thing he hates line dances or we never would've made it over here."_

_Owen bumped her with his hip. "What can I say? I can't get enough of watching your ass move in those jeans." He laughed at her embarrassed blush, playfully smacked her on the rump, and stole the bowl out of her hands. "I'll be waiting at our table. Later, Molly!"_

_They watched him wind back through the crowd. Kathy laughed sheepishly, tugging at her pants. "I mean, I wore them so he'd notice, but—" _

"_Don't act like you don't like it," Molly said, grinning. "He cleans up pretty nicely, doesn't he?"_

"_Yeah, and the bad thing is that he knows it." Kathy said. "Anyway, I meant to ask, are you feeling well? You look like you're about to keel over. You sick or something?"_

"_Me? Oh, no." Molly yawned again and stretched. "I'm just beat. Stuff at the farm has been keeping me pretty busy. I'm probably going to head out soon."_

"_Oh, but the fun's just getting started! Ah, well, I don't blame you. It's brutal out there." Kathy ladled stew into another bowl. "If the band doesn't play a waltz soon I'm going to drop dead." She picked a scallop out of the broth and popped it into her mouth. "Man, that's good. Thanks again, Molly. You sure you're okay?" _

_Molly was about to answer when she caught a glimpse of Toby and Renee walking over to them. Her heart clenched when she saw the way he was leading her by the hand. He was so very kind, and so very sweet, and so very easy to fall in love with. She couldn't blame Renee for that when she had done so herself. _

_She had just enough time to straighten up and plaster a smile on her face before they reached the table. "Enjoying the party?" she asked starry-eyed Renee, flawless in her white dress. _

"_It's like a dream," Renee gushed, clasping Toby's hands in both of hers. "I'm so happy everyone's having so much fun. We wanted to thank everyone personally for spending this special day with us." _

"_The food alone makes it totally worth it," Kathy said, winking at Molly. Toby noticed Kathy's bowl and turned surprised blue eyes to Molly._

"_You made this stew?" he asked wonderingly. "Molly, you're too kind. I absolutely love bouillabaisse." _

"_I know," she said quietly. Toby, not quite hearing her over the music and laughter behind them, beamed an overjoyed smile at her. Despite herself, she smiled back. "You two must be hungry. Let me get you some."_

_It never would have worked out, she thought, watching Toby and his bride walk away with Kathy, all of them balancing overflowing bowls in their hands. We're too different. We've got very, very little in common. He's a fisherman with his head in the clouds. I've got a farm to run, and animals to take care of, and apples to grow. _

_She stayed long enough to say goodbye to everyone and then left the church grounds, her pink silk dress swishing against her knees as she walked down Harmonica's vacant streets. The wedding music followed her all the way back to the farm, and before she opened the door to her house, she had to swallow the lump of tears in her throat. _

_I didn't cry at the wedding, she told herself doggedly. That's all that matters. I made it. It's over. _

_She went inside. Finn was flat on his back on her bed with his mouth wide open, his snores sounding like the creaking of tiny hinges. Smiling, she began to undress in the dark, but paused to inspect the plant growing in a pot underneath the window. It was barely a weed, really, tied to a Popsicle stick to keep it growing straight, but Molly had carefully filled the pot with her best soil and had been diligently tending to it for a few weeks now. Brushing her ungloved fingers over its glossy leaves, she thought of the god on the mountain. _

"_Bring me a red apple and I will eat it," he'd said to her. She'd taken the words to heart like a prayer. She just hoped the little seedling in the pot wouldn't disappoint him. After one last check of its leaves, she flopped down onto her bed, laying in the square of moonlight shining in through her window. _

"_Isn't it weird, Finn?" she whispered, too quietly to wake him. "Toby was the first friend I ever made. When we were practically starving and he gave me that fishing pole, I almost started crying and he just walked over and hugged me. Remember the moon watching festival, and our first New Year's Eve? He and I sat next to each other on the pier and I thought, I could do this every day for the rest of my life. I mean, I say that now, but I never told him so. I was always too busy with the farm to tell him anything. There were always sick animals and failing crops and sunny days where I couldn't take the time to walk to town and tell him everything that was on my heart. I guess I waited too long. That happens to everyone, doesn't it, Finn?"_

_Finn mumbled in his sleep and turned onto his side, drooling. Molly's voice became even lower. _

"_So, even though it hurts a little bit now, I've learned something. If I ever do fall in love again, I can't hide it. I've just gotta tell him. I gotta tell him." _

* * *

The bonfire was glorious, blazing hot and giving off the light of a sunrise that made the very sand on the beach glitter, even though the night was black above them. Finn hid halfway behind a terracotta pot on the farmhouse porch, sniffing the woodsmoke and watching as Ignis's black silhouette threw the last of the branches from the fallen trees onto the pyramid of flames. It crackled and roared, leaping forty feet into the air and raining embers like stars onto the grass. It would take days for the whole thing to stop smoldering, days that would be spent repairing the barn roof and rebuilding the water tower and replanting new trees to replace the yawning spaces in the neat rows of the orchard. The sheer amount of work that faced him made Finn dizzy just thinking about it.

Ignis wiped his hands on his pristine robe, then folded his arms and regarded his work. The heat swirled like liquid around him, prickling his skin. He glowed even brighter than usual, his skin golden, his hair copper. Black dirt made half-moons under his fingernails and his palms were full of splinters.

When had it happened?

Truth be told, he could not remember when the change came. Perhaps it happened when he had watched the tender way Molly stroked the leaves of the apple seedling she had planted in the pot underneath her window. Perhaps it was when she was nodding off at the table at the wedding reception, alone under the stars even though the whole town was dancing before her. Maybe it was the loss in her voice when she spoke to a sleeping Finn.

Somehow, he had known that she was talking about him.

If he had been human, the knowledge would have broken his heart.

_Is this what it felt like, Molly? _he thought, watching the burning wood turn white. _Did it burn as hotly as this? Tell me. I must know that you knew how to burn, too. _

He remembered the way her snowy footsteps sounded when she crossed chasm stairs. The way her clothes would cling to her body with sweat, her scratchy voice raised in song as she worked her fields, her bright eyes flashing with anger at the slightest annoyance. He remembered meeting her on the mountaintop, her irreverence, her infuriating familiarity with Sephia. When he thought of Molly's lips brushing Sephia's ear as they whispered to each other, a pang stabbed through his heart.

_Anger, _he thought, _or jealousy? _

She had brought him an apple and planted a tree.

His jaw worked.

_What were you thinking, trying to love me? _

She'd gone to him, he who had been as friendly and approachable as this bonfire, and she'd offered him something he didn't know how to take. But something had made him try. It was the same thing that made him abandon his throne now and come down to earth and plant again, and work again, and get dirt under his fingernails and feel sweat pouring off of his back. Her love had dragged him down from godhood and turned him into a farmer, ages after he had planted his last crop, ages after he had swallowed his last sweet apple, ages after the heat of his passion had cooled.

How dare she set fire to him again?

* * *

_AN: I made myself hungry describing the food in the wedding scene. I'm pathetic. D:_

_Also, sorry for all of the italics. When I first planned this story I didn't realize so much of it would be flashbacks. If I had, I would've formatted it all very differently. _


	6. Time

**When We Plant the Apple Tree**

Summary: Molly dies. Melody Farm falls into divine hands. A story about growing up, even if you're a god.

_Flashbacks and inner thoughts in italics._

* * *

VI: Time

Working with a god was a little intimidating.

Finn picked a pumpkin and dumped it into the pile with the rest of the harvest. Summer had been mild, and although fall had blown all the green out of the leaves and grass, the wind hadn't quite become cold enough to warrant the townspeople wearing anything heavier than light jackets. Castanet had taken on warm hues of red and orange and gold that rivaled the sunset. This season's crops-pumpkins, peppers, carrots and rice-had done very well, thanks to the richly fertilized soil and the attentive watering they had received. Melody Farm was as productive has it had ever been, but despite this, Finn's heart was heavy. Molly was missing this. It seemed like it had been only yesterday when he had been helping her cover seed-filled holes with dirt. How could she be gone? How could she not be here, helping him? It wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

He pulled another pumpkin free from its vine, knowing he shouldn't complain. He desperately needed help to keep up with the mounting backlist of chores that had to be done before the cold set in. Hadn't he even yelled at Lord Ignis when he first refused to offer assistance? The thought made his cheeks burn even though his anger had been justified. After all, Melody Farm was too important to him, to Sephia, to everybody, to just abandon. He had to fight for it, just like Molly would have. If Molly were here.

But the tall, imposing figure moving through the rice field with a scythe in his hand was definitely not Molly. Even though this was the third harvest that Ignis had helped him with, it still made Finn vaguely uneasy to watch him. Barefoot and shirtless, having abandoned his robe and cloak ensemble for a pair of loose cotton trousers, Lord Ignis looked, well, like a common farmer, if you discounted the way his skin glowed in the sun and the flames that sometimes whirled up around his ankles wherever he walked. Sheaves that would have completely hidden Molly from view only came up to the Harvest King's chest, and the way he cut them was mechanical and perfect and silent. Here was this stranger on the land, doing Molly's work, taking care of Molly's animals, harvesting Molly's crops. It was all so different. When Molly worked, her voice would ring out over the fields with frustration or anger or unexpected joy. And she'd sing. A lot. She had a forceful singing voice, which went a little off-key when she got really into a song, but it was always a comfort to Finn to hear her.

Watching the Harvest King work, though, he guessed there would be no more of that. Neither would there be impromptu trips to the ocean to cool off, nor picnics of vegetable sandwiches and fresh watermelon eaten by the catfish pond, nor naps taken in the shade of the orchard, with Molly leaning against the trunk of an apple tree while Finn curled up in the bowl of her straw hat. The memory made his eyes misty. He decided to fill the silence the way Molly would.

"Soil, water, warm sunshine," he half-hummed under his breath, tugging at another pumpkin. "My strength is yours, your breath is mine. You're the mountain, I'm the sea. Between us stands-."

"I am finished."

The Harvest King's shadow fell over him. Finn dropped both the vine and the song and fluttered to attention. Over Ignis's shoulder, he could see that all the rice had been evenly laid out in the sun to dry on a blanket. Stubby stalks jutted up from the field where it had all been harvested from. _That was fast, _he thought, and then said, "Thank you, Harvest King."

"You should pay attention to the weather, and cover the rice before it rains." Ever aloof, even when he was half naked, Ignis cast a bored look over Finn's slow progress.

Finn flushed. "I know that much, Harvest King!" he said indignantly, wrestling with another pumpkin. "Besides, I'll be done with this long before any storms come through."

Wordlessly, Ignis pulled Molly's knife from his pocket and knelt in the dirt next to Finn, brushing him away with the back of his hand. One clean cut severed the pumpkin from the vine.

The work went much faster with a pair of human-sized hands to help. Soon, all the pumpkins were lined up in orange rows beside the field and the wheelbarrow was heaped with green peppers waiting to be blended into vegetable juice. They pulled the last of the carrots up through the crumbling soil, the autumn sunshine warming their backs. If he closed his eyes, Finn could almost imagine her there with him, the ribbon on her straw hat fluttering, the watering can banging against her thigh as she walked, splashing water onto her boots—

"That song you were singing," Ignis asked suddenly, startling Finn out of his daydream. "What is it?"

Finn blew his pom-pom out if his eyes as he yanked on a particularly fluffy carrot-top. "Oh, just something that Molly used to sing when she was out here."

"It sounds familiar."

"I'm sure you've heard it before, Harvest King. It's a hymn that everybody sings in church in the summertime," Finn said pleasantly. "Would you like me to sing it for you?"

Ignis remembered the tune, but not the words. Molly usually botched the lyrics up anyway. Truthfully, he paid less attention to the voices raised in his praise in the church and more to the sounds of nature, but when Molly sang, he listened. Somehow, the song was only interesting when it was coming from her. He decided to change the topic.

"We won't plant anything next month," he said. "The soil should rest. As should you."

"As you wish, Harvest King." A pause. "Do you think the new farmer will come soon?"

"I cannot say. Perhaps."

Finn uprooted another carrot. "I…I don't think I want another farmer to come, though. I don't want some stranger taking Molly's place. What if they don't water the crops, or cut down the orchard? What if they sell all of her animals and are mean and rude to the Harvest Goddess?" Finn sniffed. "I just want Molly back. Does that make me a bad harvest sprite?"

Finn's words had struck a chord in Ignis's heart, but he remained impassive. "No, it makes you a fool."

_Oh, what does he know, _Finn though, turning away in a huff. _He never loved her like I did. _

* * *

_After the wedding, Ignis gave Molly his first and only gift to her: the ability to use the rune wall by Garmon Mine's entrance. She needed only to touch it, and it would transport her to the mountaintop in an instant, saving her the fifty-floor climb up through the mine. She stubbornly refused to use it. _

"_It's creepy," she told him. "There is absolutely no way I'm going through some portal in a rock. Besides, I need the material stone. I've finally got enough money to upgrade the house. Maybe I'll stop getting sick in the winter all the time when my roof doesn't have giant, gaping holes in it."_

_He hadn't pressed the issue. She remained his twilight visitor, emerging each day from the dark mine with only a few minutes left before sunset. Sometimes she would bring small gifts merely to show to him. Yarn that she had dyed, a garnet, some perfume that she'd made. Other times, she'd bring him apple cocktails that she'd been able to make in her spare time, and these he would drink. They made the mountaintop smell like her orchard, sweet and warm. _

_And she would talk. She never seemed to stop talking. She'd bring the whole day with her to dump on his dais, from how hard it was for her to catch a particular fish, to what crops were sprouting, to how warm the soil was when she dug her hands into it. Sitting on the edge of the platform, her feet swinging over the deadly drop to the ground, she'd talk of being a farmer. And even though her voice was grating and harsh, and her very presence disturbed the peace which he valued so highly, he found himself always listening. _

_Was his Castanet still so beautiful? Did the rain still make the air taste sweeter? Was the ocean water still so clear that you could see the light reflecting off the fishes' scales near the bottom? She told him the soil was somehow clean, and the crops would literally shine. Here was a human describing what he had only come to realize after he had first opened his eyes as a god. _

_He couldn't believe all that he had forgotten.  
_

_After a few months' worth of visits, after he had learned Molly's birthday, her favorite color and least favorite foods, the stories of her worst harvests and her most embarrassing moments, he finally descended his dais and sat down next to her. She looked pleased, and offered him her thermos of apple cider. It looked ridiculously small in his hands when he took it, but it warmed him all the same. _

"_Do you want to know about me?" he asked her solemnly. _

"_No thanks," she said, smiling. "I think I know enough." _

_The days tumbled on into weeks. The fall harvest came and went, and despite all of her distractions, Molly still produced a bumper crop and was rolling in gold by the time the first snow fell. She upgraded her coop instead of her house, saying that she wanted to try raising ostriches. Everyone in town commented on how happy she had suddenly become. Mayor Hamilton even visited Melody Farm one morning and gave her instructions on where to obtain a blue feather, which caused her to blush for hours. She worked through her embarrassment by buying ninety-nine packets of buckwheat seeds and planting every one of them. Still, as they worked, Finn saw her smiling. _

_Not a day went by when she didn't see the Harvest King's face. _

_Not a day went by when he didn't look forward to seeing hers. _

* * *

_Molly's oldest cow, Perkins, went into labor at the end of winter, when all the world was blanked out by a fierce blizzard. Through the whirling snow, Ignis could barely see the light from Molly's lantern shining through the barn windows, but he knew. He felt her heartbeat kick up in her chest when she realized it wasn't going to be an easy birth and when Perkins's body was wracked with pain. He felt the tiny life within the cow go out like a snuffed flame just as Molly's hands reached in and pulled it into the warm, dimly-lit barn._

_Here it comes, he thought with something like despair in his chest, watching as Molly wiped its face and suctioned its nose. She pressed her fingers hard under its jaw, then ordered Finn to get a blanket. She tried several rounds of clumsy CPR before gathering the still-wet baby in her arms and bursting out into the cold._

_She emerged from the rune wall in a shower of golden light, knees trembling under the animal's weight. Taking the stone arch's steps two at a time, she stumbled up to him. She hadn't even bothered to put on a hat. Snow stuck to her hair like stars._

_"Please," she choked. "Help him."_

_The calf's black head lolled over her arm, its too-long legs flopping. Ignis did not move from his throne. "It's gone," he told her._

_Her gloves tightened against its body. White tips of ice were already beginning to form on its fur. "Then bring him back," she said._

_"I cannot."_

_The wind shrieked around the mountaintop, making Molly's goosedown jacket flap against her shivering sides. "What did you say?" Her words were quiet and incredulous._

_"It was admirable that you attempted to save it, but you can't bring it back to life." He worded his condolences carefully, uncomfortably, not wanting to offend her but not understanding why she looked like she was about to cry._

_"You can, though," she said, panic creeping into her voice. "You're the Harvest King. Don't you dare tell me you can't help me. You brought Sephia's Tree back."_

_"That was different," he said stiffly, hating her for this, for bringing her mortal woes to his throne, for thinking that he had the same heart that she did. "You cannot tamper with the natural law in order to save a single life."_

_"It's not different," Molly said, and now her eyes were filling up with angry tears. "It's not different at all. He hasn't been dead that long, his heart was beating just before he was born, I heard it, I was listening. All you need to do—"_

_"There is nothing I can do." He unfolded his arms. "Do not ask this of me."_

_Molly, close to blubbering, took another step forward. The calf was loose as a rag doll in her arms. It was tiny, so tiny. Like her, he thought. "Look, I know you're worried about messing with the natural order or whatever," she began brokenly, "but can't you do this one thing? I'm not asking this for myself. Just give this guy half a chance at life. Give him an hour, a day. Give him something."_

_"I can do nothing for him."_

_Her sorrow turned to anger on a dime. "You mean you won't," she said. "Why, because he's not as special as Sephia's tree? Because he's just a dumb cow, a piece of meat? You call yourself the Harvest God but you don't have any power here, do you? You're just some pretty-looking statue who's got nothing better to do than stand here-"_

_"Enough."_

_"-and let a human do all the hard work!" Molly's voice was hoarse with fury. "I'm the one doing everything! I can't even come to you for help. Where were you last year when that storm flattened all my wheat? Where were you when I was starving, when I had to practically sell my furniture to buy medicine for the animals? Where were you when I needed you?"_

_Her anger was an avalanche._

_"You're fine to stand here and accept my gifts and watch me suffer, but whenever you're actually asked to do something, you pretend that you don't have the power! Do something for once! If you want to be treated like a god, act like one!"_

_The stinging words found their mark. Ignis backed away from her, drawing himself up to his full height. The flames that had been whispering around his feet suddenly blazed up in a cyclone of fire, melting the snow all around them and making her flinch away from the blasting heat._

_"You dare speak thus to the Lord of the Harvest?" he demanded, and his voice was thunder in her ears, making her heartbeat stutter and the mountain shake underneath her boots. "You understand nothing, you insignificant, groveling, pitiful animal. From your first heartbeat to your last breath, your life has been mine to command. If I wish it so, I will make all your animals barren and your crops wither and your body sicken and die. I am Castanet. I am your god."_

_She shrank back before his anger, her eyes huge._

_"Your hand rang the bells that woke me," he continued, his voice a cold contrast to the fire roaring around him, "but it is my breath that fills your lungs, my strength that carries you through each day. Soon enough the time is coming when I will choose to take these things away from you, too. Remember your place, human."_

_Ignis saw the words sink in, and her face changed as if he had slapped it. She drew herself up as tall as she could, but her chin was quivering. Two wet tracks slid down her cheeks, and a single sob worked its way out of her throat before she strangled it. Poised on shaking legs, she waited for him to deliver the final push to send her away. He saw she was waiting, and pushed._

_"You're an imbecile," he said stiffly, turning his back to her once more. "You shouldn't have come here in this weather. Go home now."_

_She did. She turned and staggered back down the mountain, and he heard the ragged way she was crying as clearly as if she had been standing right in front of him._

_He watched her bury the calf on the easternmost edge of her property. And then he watched her take her axe and walk to the tree which she had been so carefully tending in the orchard. It had long outgrown the pot under the window in her house, so she had transplanted it in the middle of the orchard, where it had gotten warm sun and mild rain all autumn long. It was easily twice her height and growing like a weed even in the midst of winter, a skeleton of branches tangling above her head. In the spring, it would sprout leaves and pale pink flowers. In the summer, it would bear fruit, and the apples it grew would be blood red, ruby red, red as the hair that Molly, for some inexplicable, heartbreaking reason, wanted to run her fingers through._

_Ignis turned away only when Molly swung the axe blade against the apple tree's sturdy trunk with all of her might._

_She did not stop chopping until she had reduced it to splinters on the ground._

* * *

_Molly's rant was partly inspired by the fact that, if you marry Ignis, he lets you run around being pregnant and still doing all the chores on the farm AND going up the mountain to deliver gifts. Then, once baby's born, he's like, "Nice job. Here's a cradle. Bye." _

_Stuff I learned while writing this chapter: not all rice is grown in paddies. You can grow some kinds of rice in well-watered ground, instead of having to flood it. How educational._

_This isn't my favorite chapter, but I've taken long enough to write it. I hope you enjoyed it anyway._

_ Anyway, happy Thanksgiving to all that celebrate it!_


	7. Tree

When We Plant the Apple Tree

Summary: Molly dies. Melody Farm falls into divine hands. A story about growing up, even if you're already a god.

* * *

VII: Tree

The first snowstorm of the season had come and gone, leaving in its wake slate gray skies and a bitter chill that put a clear glaze of ice on branches and frosted the sand on the beach. Fat snowflakes glided silently to the ground to form huge, fluffy drifts that had to be shoveled off of Harmonica Town's cobbled streets every morning. In the Clarinet and Flute Fields districts, the paths were all but impassable. Not a single footstep marred the pristine blanket of snow from one bridge to the other, and the only sound in the air was the occasional fall of snow off of a branch. Castanet was truly asleep.

Within the barn, Finn was brushing Perkins' silky brown fur while the other cows contentedly chewed their hay. Leeman and Abriel dozed by their mangers, nodding off to the rhythm of the coarse-haired brush and the faint hum of Finn's wings. It was another drowsy day at the farm, with nothing to do but stay warm and sleep. Finn envied the animals. With all of this year's heavy planting and harvesting behind him, he had nothing left to do but preen the animals and fret about the future. As exhausting as it had been, he wanted to keep taking care of Melody Farm. Alone.

His chin crumpled. He'd spent almost a year without Molly, and although it had been a year drenched in tears and sweat and rain, what he'd told Lord Ignis had been true. He didn't want anyone to take Molly's place. Besides, he could handle everything just fine—maybe with occasional help from the Harvest King. A little not-quite-fledged harvest sprite had carried the responsibility of the farm through all four backbreaking seasons of work. Hadn't he proved his worth?

So, even though the farm hadn't earned one cent of gold and the barn roof needed repairing and the farmhouse was filled with cobwebs, Finn felt cold dread seep through him whenever he imagined a new farmer claiming ownership of what was rightfully his—and Molly's. What other farmer would know how to shear Leeman as carefully as she had done? Who else could plant and grow such beautiful crops—who else could tend the orchard as dutifully? And most worrisome of all—who else would be as kind and loving and wonderful to him as she had been?

"Maybe no one will come," he whispered to Perkins. "Maybe the Harvest Goddess will give me more power so I can do everything by myself, so that way no one will have to come."

Perkins mooed unhelpfully.

Ignis was in the orchard, standing under the tree he had planted, watching it silently. No more would it be threatened by falling branches or the punishing winds of a storm. The break that he had mended was barely a raised line in the rich brown bark, and the rest of the branches fanned up and out like a many-spoked umbrella. Fully grown but still growing, it was already bigger than the other older trees. He wondered if the little bit of magic he had used to help it grow when he had first planted it had caused it to grow so big.

No, he decided. All of this was Molly's doing. The tree, the farm. Sephia's health, Castanet's revival. The ache in his chest.

It was all her fault.

* * *

"_Why don't you like the Harvest King anymore?"_

_Molly, draped over the edge of their hot spring pool, cracked an eye open. Her vision was clouded with steam, but she could still see Finn on one of the rocks. He lay on his back, his hat folded into a pillow underneath this head. She shifted her legs, feeling renewed warmth as the water swirled around her, letting the heat seep into her skin and relieve muscles that felt like they hadn't relaxed since she had first picked up a hoe. "Why do you think I don't?" she asked stiffly. _

"_You haven't gone to see him in a while."_

"_Because we've been busy." _

"_We're always busy. Are you still mad at him?"_

_Molly lifted her head. At that moment, Perkins wandered by, shaggy brown coat flecked with white, her black nose rooting through the snow for grass. Molly's eyes followed her and then flicked towards Mount Garmon—or where Mount Garmon would be, if it hadn't been shrouded in cloud cover. "Not really." _

_Finn waved his arms in the air before flopping them down again. For him, a little steam went a long way. "I can't believe it's the New Year Festival already," he said dreamily. "Time sure goes by fast, doesn't it?"_

"_Five years," Molly agreed. "And the land is healthy—"_

"_And we've got lots of animals now—"_

"_And we're not scrounging for food—"_

"_And everyone's married and pregnant!"_

_Molly glared at Finn. The sprite blanched despite the steam. "N-no, I didn't mean it like that! I only said that because, you know, Toby and Renee announced that they're expecting, and then Kathy told everyone that she'd be having twins—"_

"_Yeah, I know." She rested her head on her folded arms again and was quiet for a few moments. "Hey, Finn." _

"_Yeah?" _

"_Do you think I'd be any good at being a wife?" _

_Finn mused for a bit. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure," he finally decided. "You're good at feeding and washing and milking the animals. You'd just have to do the same thing to your husband."_

_Molly spent the next ten minutes laughing. _

* * *

_She couldn't sleep that night, tired though she was. Flat on her back, listening to Finn snoring on the pillow beside her head, she memorized the hairline cracks along her ceiling and watched as the clock ticked slowly around to one in the morning. Two. Four. _

"_You gotta be kidding me," she finally muttered. She slipped out from under the covers and bundled herself against the cold in the dark. Searching in her jacket pockets for her mittens, she pulled out a few grains of buckwheat and an apple core. A few black seeds showed through the holes in the dried out core, so she broke it apart and scooped them into her hand. __Better not waste these guys, __she thought dryly. __I might have to chop a few more of them down before this whole thing is over. _

_She felt around in her other pocket, sighed, and left the house as quietly as she could. The snow was silver under the moon, the sky still black ink. Arms crossed, hands stuffed into her armpits, she scowled at her property like it was to blame for her sleeplessness. Her scowl only deepened when she automatically looked at the orchard to see how her special tree was doing, only to remember that it wasn't there anymore._

_The cold dug its way into her skin, so she started walking to stay warm. She wasn't specifically thinking of going to the mountain until she found herself standing in front of the rune wall. _

_He'd let her calf die and she'd destroyed his apple tree. She didn't think she had the heart to face him again._

_She hesitated, then placed her gloved hand on the etched stone. _

_Despite her parka and knee-high boots, the instantaneous temperature change between the bottom of the mountain and its peak was enough to knock the wind out of her. She was still dizzy and shivering when she crossed the chasm, but her feet were steady, having long since memorized every step. Scaling the stairs to the platform took more courage than she remembered, but she made it to the foot of the dais all the same. And there he was, the same as always, exactly as he had always been: beautiful and aloof and completely out of her reach. _

_He heard her coming and turned to face her, stony and impassive. She had to swallow several times before she could speak. Her breath clouded in the air. _

"_Happy New Year."_

_He gravely inclined his head. Long ago, she would have bristled at his silence—__don't you act all godlike with me, mister__—but now she took it as an invitation. _

"_I thought we'd watch something different this time," she told him, kicking snow off the edge of his stone platform before plopping down onto it, facing east, her back to him. To guard against the cold, she pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs. She stiffened only slightly when she heard movement behind her, and then made room for him on her cleared-off patch of stone. He sat down next to her, almost close enough for their arms to touch. She had to remind herself to keep breathing. _

"_I thought you would have stayed away longer," he said. "I am thankful that you did not." _

_Heat bloomed on her cheeks. "I should have brought some soba for us to eat," she said hurriedly, "since it's the new year and all. Then again, it's probably better that I didn't, given your track record of refusing anything that's not alcoholic and apple-flavored." _

_The Harvest God frowned, but his voice was even when he spoke. "Humans adore their unnecessary rituals. You should be able to eat anything you wish on any given day."_

"_You're missing the point. It's the ceremony of it all. You know, like birthdays and weddings. It's a known fact that cake tastes best on birthdays and soba tastes best on the first of the year." _

"_You are jesting with me." _

"_Really, I'm not. Come to the farm on a festival day and I'll show you." _

_The indigo sky was lightening into a crystal blue in the east, and a faint blush of pink crept over the clouds. The winter wind finally parted them enough for Molly to see the patchwork blanket of Castanet's rolling hills, the dark ocean stretching to the horizon, and the faint glitter of Harmonica Town's lighthouse far below._

"_You really can see everything from here, can't you?" she marveled, craning her neck to see the sprawling expanse beneath her. She could just see her farm around the curve of the foothills. Her chest swelled with pride when she saw how beautiful it was, even from a distance. _

"_I can." _

_She leaned back on her elbows. "So why are you so baffled about things like festivals and cake exchanges? If you've been watching all this time, why don't any of our __'__weird and confusing and pointless' traditions make sense to you?" _

"_There is little point in having so many celebrations," he said, his voice growing quieter. "It is as if humans do not know what they live for. A human is born, his life happens, and then he dies. It should be more complicated than that." _

_Their eyes met. He held himself completely still, his hair falling in crimson waves around his face. A stray flame crawled up the pillar of his abdomen to flash across his neck. Everything about him—his face, his skin, the shape of his hands—was too perfect to be real. The sudden realization made Molly's heart squeeze painfully. _

"_You never were, were you?" she breathed. "You truly don't know."_

"_I am all-knowing."_

_She rolled her eyes. "If you were, you'd know that human lives are about the most complicated things on the planet. Life's all about choices and changing and growing. You think you know so much because you've been watching, but you really haven't paid attention to what you've seen." _

"_All lives on this land are a part of mine. Nothing is beyond my attention." _

_Molly frowned, chewing her lip. Then, her earth-brown eyes widened with a sudden thought. She sat up quickly. "I think I have a New Year's gift for you after all." _

_Digging into her pocket, she pulled out one of the apple seeds and held it out to him. "And, unlike soba, you're going to love it. Just do me a favor and take care of it for me."_

_His crimson gaze fell to her gloved palm. When he picked the seed up, the warmth from his fingers sent a chill all the way to her shoulder. His questioning glance was even warmer. She began to babble in order to cover another blush. _

"_The other day, I told you to act like a god. I'm not sure that was the right thing to say. That's what you've always done, because that's all you've ever been, isn't it?" She rubbed her hands against her arms. "So, instead, I want you to try being a farmer. You bring the harvest for everyone else in Castanet. Why not do it for yourself?" She snorted dryly. "You've got the hands for it, at least." _

_He examined the seed in his palm with an aloof expression that made her smile. "I fail to see the reason why you're gifting me with this. There is no place here for the seed to grow." _

"_Well, I guess you'll just have to debase yourself and come visit the farm sometime," the farm girl said craftily. "I've got a spot in the orchard just for you."_

_She let him inspect the seed, his severe eyebrows knit in a scowl. She decided to nudge him in the right direction. _

"_When I first got here," she began, "I knew nothing about managing a farm or growing plants or taking care of animals, but once the responsibility was in my hands, I changed. I was forced to change. And it was the best thing that ever happened to me. And…and maybe you can change a little, too. You can change enough to enjoy what's going on all around you-maybe find out what Castanet is actually about. Come get your hands dirty. Go fishing. Go down into the mine, instead of standing on it. Come back down to earth, Harvest King."_

_She reached out a hesitant hand and closed his indecisive fingers around the apple seed, wondering if he knew how perfectly his silhouette was burned into her memory by now: every gleam of the gold around his throat, every twist of his braid and fold in his crimson robe, the curve of the muscles and the strong line of his jaw. She imagined him on her farm, crops growing under his care, animals crowding around him to be fed. His feet would be muddy and sweat would make his forehead shine. It was both foreign and familiar to imagine him that way._

_But she couldn't make him any more human than that. Try as she might, she just couldn't. _

_I thought so, she thought as she gazed in the Harvest Lord's eyes. I can cover him with dirt and put a milker in his hand, but I can't imagine him as…as my…. _

_The sun finally broke over the horizon, making them both flinch. The light poured over Castanet and chased the remaining shadows from the mountaintop. The animals would be waking up soon and the plants would need to be watered. Seeing the sun made Molly realize she'd missed an entire night's sleep, and she suddenly felt woozy and blurry-eyed. _

"_I'd better get home," she murmured awkwardly, standing up and brushing snow off of the back of her soaking jeans. He rose as well, his hand still clenched around the seed. _

"_Wait," he said, as she turned to go. She almost had to squint at how brightly he was reflecting the rising sun._

"_You speak of me changing," he began. "I believe I have, if just a little. It is something I feel when I see your face. Perhaps it is a good thing." _

_She grinned over her shoulder at him. "Well. Isn't that something. There may be some hope for you yet." _

_So saying, she reached into her pocket and crushed the blue feather she had found along with the apple seeds earlier. Clearing her throat, she made her voice loud and authoritative. "Next time I come up here, I'll bring my farming manual for you. You're going to need to know how to do things right if you plan to move one speck of dirt on my property." _

* * *

_Molly and Finn were late to begin their spring planting. Somehow, winter killed crops but made weeds flourish, and it took them several days of nothing but field work to make the soil workable again._

"_Next time, I'm going to get a flamethrower and just torch everything," Molly grumped as she sat lacing her boots at the kitchen table. Finn sat next to her on a red-checked placemat, watching her patiently. "Just flat out kill it with fire. You ready to go?" she asked him, sitting up and combing her hair out of her eyes with her fingers._

"_Ready!" Finn jumped up, wiggling with excitement in midair. "What kinds of seeds are we getting?"_

"_Wheat, for starters. Maybe some lettuce." _

_Finn's happy expression disappeared. "But you said we could plant something fun this spring!" he said. "We always plant lettuce!"_

_Molly stood, pulling on her gardening gloves as she went to the tool chest. "Because we always need the gold it brings," she told him, rummaging through it and pulling out the brush and milker. Seeing the betrayed look on Finn's face when she turned around made her smile sympathetically. "All right, you whiner. What do you think we should plant?" _

_He brightened instantly. "Cocoa!" he cried. "And lavender!"_

_Now it was Molly's turn to make a face. "Cocoa?" She was about to tell him it was too expensive, but Finn's hopeful expression was so infuriatingly adorable that she had to relent. She blew out a sigh and reached for her straw hat hanging on the corner of the bookshelf. "Cocoa, then," she agreed begrudgingly. "And lavender too, because apparently you want Julius over here every day nagging me to make perfume. But there's no way we're not planting wheat, no matter how boring you think it is." _

_Finn was practically dancing at the prospect of making chocolate ice cream and hot cocoa. He tossed his orange hat into the air. "Oh thank you, thank you! You're the best!"_

_Molly was already at the front door, propping it open with her foot and letting the early sunshine fill the room with light and warmth. She looked back at him, her skin glowing, her eyes bright. "C'mon, buddy," she said. "Let's go be farmers again." _

* * *

"_Doctor! Doctor Jin!" _

_The bell above Choral Clinic's door clattered as Renee flung it open. She was flush-faced and panting, stumbling over her words. At the reception desk, Irene and Anissa, who were grinding dried pontata roots into powder, looked up from their work. Jin had been writing prescription orders at his desk, but was already on his feet when Renee's wide eyes found his. His mind was already going through the gamut of possible troubles: issues with her pregnancy, Toby stung by a jellyfish, someone's injured at the Ranch—before Renee cut off his thoughts. _

"_Please hurry," she said. "It's Molly." _

_By the time Jin and the others reached Melody Farm, Cain had carried Molly into the house and had laid her on the bed. Hanna was pressing a cold cloth to her forehead while Toby hovered at the foot of the bed, looking lost. _

"_Dad and I were on our delivery run and we were going to pick up Molly's shipment," Renee was telling Jin as they entered the house, "and we saw her working in the field and she saw us so she stood up to wave and then, I don't know what happened, she just—" _

"_She's breathing," Cain interrupted, moving out of the way as Jin sat down on the edge of Molly's bed and set his medical bag at his feet. "Can't get her to wake back up, though. She was trying to talk to me when I picked her up but she wasn't making any sense." _

_An unseen Finn hovered above the bed. Stomach churning with worry and fear, he fluttered down to Molly's shoulder and hid behind her sleeve as Jin felt her pulse, shone a penlight into her eyes, squeezed the web of skin between her forefinger and thumb. "Molly?" he asked, patting her cheek. "Open your eyes for me."_

"_Please open your eyes," echoed Finn, weakly._

"_Does anybody know if this has happened to her before?" Jin asked as he worked. "Fainting spells, anything like that?" When everyone shook their heads, he reached into his bag and pulled out a plastic bag of clear liquid and a large-bore needle. "Irene, could you prepare this for me?" he asked, laying the supplies on the bed. "Anissa, get everyone out of here, please."_

"_Doctor, what's wrong with her?" Renee called over Anissa's shoulder, as the dark-haired woman gently guided the worried group out into the sunshine. Jin, already bending over Molly's arm with the needle in his hand, didn't answer._

"_We'll do everything we can," Anissa told them all as she closed the door on their worried faces. Hearing her, Jin smoothed Molly's sweat-dampened hair away from her face. "And the rest will be up to you, my friend," he said softly. _

_Finn climbed out from underneath Molly's sleeve and crept over the pillow and onto the windowsill. The window was open, letting the balmy breeze fill the room. He turned to look at Jin and Irene and Anissa, all stooped over his beloved friend. Then he buzzed his wings and rose into the air like a piece of fluff. He followed the path that Molly's boots had worn in the grass, past the orchard and the pond, over the bridge and into the Garmon District. He pushed through the overgrowth that choked the path to the Goddess' Spring. Sephia was waiting for him. _

"_Come here, little one," she said. _

_Finn went to her, and she reached out and cradled him in her arms. Staring up into her perfect face, Finn couldn't bring himself to speak. Together, they waited under the sweet-smelling Goddess Tree._

_It was late in the sun-dappled afternoon when Mayor Hamilton broke the news of Molly's death to the stunned citizens of Harmonica Town._

_Alone at the top of the world, his dais alit by fire, the Harvest King had already known._

_He had, after all, been the one to call her home._

* * *

Molly had been buried in the small cliffside cemetery beside Celesta Church, bordered by the sheer cliff wall on one side and the ocean on the other. The steps leading down to the cemetery were moss-covered and crusted with salt spray, much like the haphazardly arranged headstones that sprouted from the thick layer of snow. A stone bench situated underneath a tree near the base of the steps offered visitors a seat for relaxation and contemplation. It was a quiet place, filled with distant sounds from the sea.

Ignis had not attended her funeral and had not lingered to throw a few handfuls of dirt over her urn like the others had done. He had not come to see her in the long months that followed her death. Now, though, there was nothing to plant or harvest at the farm.

"I planted the seed," he began haltingly. "I tended your animals and harvested your crops. I did as you asked of me."

The setting sun threw his shadow over the marker bearing her name. She was here, in a tiny marble box under the snow. Somehow, though, he didn't feel as close to her here as he did on her farm. There was more of her on that piece of property by the sea than anywhere else, even her own grave.

"She would probably prefer it that way, right?" spoke a gentle voice behind him. Sephia again, her presence filling the cemetery with the same sweet iris scent that permeated the grove where the Tree grew. She stepped out from behind the tree by the bench and walked over to him, her bare feet leaving faint tracks in the snow. Together, they looked down at the resting place of their hero.

"I will never understand humans," Ignis finally said. "Had she even been immortal like us, I would have never deciphered the meaning in anything she said."

"I don't believe we were meant to understand them," the Harvest Goddess said pleasantly. "Although I think you understood her a little more than you know."

"No. Not at all."

Sephia reached down and brushed the snow off the square headstone. "What was that you said about human lives being uncomplicated?" She looked up over her shoulder at him, her ocean-hued eyes sparkling.

Ignis looked away, trying to name the burning under his skin. Swallowing, he said, "She was going to propose to me that day on the mountain, but she didn't." Ignis looked over at her, and she winced at the lost look in his eyes. "Why didn't she?"

"Because she felt she did not need to. The feather would not have brought you two any closer than you already were. Nothing is more sacred than the bond between a farmer and the land."

"She loved me."

Sephia straightened gracefully, fluttering her lacy wings. "See? You understood her after all."

Ignis clenched his fists. "Harvest Goddess, I don't know what to do," he said brokenly. "She's in the ground. They put her in the ground."

She smiled then, a small smile of compassion and wisdom, and reached out to put a hand on his cheek. "Oh, Ignis. Isn't that how a seed grows? You have to plant it first."

He was not consoled. "I—I never told her—"

"Shh. You didn't have to." Sephia cupped his face in her cool hands, her moonlight glow overpowering his fire. "You became the caretaker of Melody Farm in her stead. Every seed planted. Every weed pulled. Every step taken. Would you have done any of those things if you didn't love her back?"

There it was. He hadn't even admitted it to himself, but as soon as Sephia voiced it, the feeling that was crushing his chest seemed to leap off of him like a flame, adding another banner of fire around his body. It was love. He had loved Molly. He had loved her as soon as he'd seen her, as soon as she'd been rejected by Toby, as soon as she'd whispered to Finn in the dark.

And he'd realized it too late.

"She knows—she knows everything." Then Sephia's lips turned up. "But now that you're here, it would hurt to tell her for yourself."

Ignis closed his eyes, too overcome to speak.

_I gotta tell him, _Molly had said. _If I ever fall in love again—_

"Soil, water, warm sunshine." Sephia's words carried the barest hint of the melody in them, a faint suggestion that she wanted him to pick up the song. The same song Finn had been singing. The same one that Molly had sung. "My strength is yours, your breath is mine. You're the mountain—" and here she became louder, reaching out to entwine her fingers in his— "I'm the sea."

His breath caught in his throat. He gazed at the little mount of dirt at his feet and wished with all of his soul that he hadn't let her calf die that day.

"Go on," Sephia coaxed. "You know the words. Tell her."

_Tell me. _

His voice was small and quiet as a timid child. "Between us stands the apple tree."

He wasn't the singing type. He wasn't the listening type, or the loving type, or the type that gave even the slightest bit of attention to all the mortal lives that were born and died at the foot of his mountain. He was a star, birthed from fire, older than land and sea. He was immortal. He was a god.

And Molly had turned him into a farmer.

Sephia's smile was like the sunrise. "You took the melody," she lamented softly. "Ah, well. Shall we continue?"

He remembered her in the twilight, throwing seeds upon the earth. The way she hummed off-key as she pulled weeds and cursed under her breath if she forgot to get dinner out of the oven before it burned. How often she lovingly pet her livestock with calloused hands, and how often those same hands held out apples to him. He remembered the many sunsets they had watched, and that first glorious sunrise, where she had been glowing brighter than him. He remembered the exact shape of her silhouette against the sky and the exact shape of the apple seed she had dropped into his hand.

The hymn they sang was no triumphant bell-call; no one in Harmonica Town heard it, although it was more beautiful than anything the bells had ever produced, and certainly more than Molly had ever made it sound. Their combined celestial auras made the snow-covered cemetery glow like an aurora as the sun went down over them. They sang until the stars came out, pouring all their love into the words.

And in the orchard at Melody Farm, Molly's apple tree grew, and grew, and grew.

* * *

_I agonized over this chapter but I hope it turned out well. _

_Both Gale and Alan tell you that Sephia sings every day, and when he loves you enough, Ignis mentions singing as well. I thought it would be a suitable send-off. _

_One more chapter to go!_


	8. Epilogue

Epilogue

* * *

The farmhouse was dark and quiet, the windows thrown wide open to accept the hot breeze that tossed the gauzy white curtains. The last bags of seeds from storage rested on the kitchen table next to the trowel and watering can. Finn was asleep on the bed, sprawled in a square of sunshine, absorbing heat like a sponge. Outside, the animals wandered across the grass, grazing placidly in the shadows of the potbellied clouds that sailed over them.

"Here we go! This is the property that I was telling you about!"

Mayor Hamilton's too-excited voice cut through Finn's dreamless nap. He muttered a complaint, blinking and squinting.

"Huh." A stranger's voice, pleasant and calm, answered the Mayor. "It's pretty."

"I'm glad you think so!" Hamilton beamed. "It's been so long since we've had anyone dedicated to taking care of this place. I can't tell you how excited I am to sell it to you."

The words yanked Finn out of his nap like he was a fish on a hook.

_The new farmer...!_

Wings fluttering, he tumbled off the pillow and leapt towards the open window, getting tangled in the billowing curtain in the process. When he finally managed to flail himself free, he kicked the curtain aside and peered into the yard.

It was a shock to see two people standing so close to the house, since most of the townsfolk treated Melody Farm like hallowed ground. Seeing the crops being grown and harvested and the animals taken care of by invisible hands had been enough to keep mostly everyone away. Some had probably assumed that the reclusive Wizard had been working his magic on the farm at night, although he insisted he had no interest in growing weeds and shoveling manure.

But now, for the first time in over a year, there were people here. There was the Mayor, with his ridiculous fluff of curly white hair and his pale blue suit stretched over his distended stomach. His pink skin shone with sweat. Next to him stood a young woman with short brown hair and an easy smile. She wore a pale green tunic over a pair of jean shorts and carried a small square suitcase. Already, she looked a bit wilted from the heat.

"Are the animals usually allowed to wander around alone?" she asked.

Hamilton stammered. "Well, er, apparently so. I don't think they're exactly alone. This farm is a rather...special place." He dug around in his lace-lined pockets for a piece of rolled up paper, shooing away a chicken with one foot. "So, what brought you to Castanet, Miss...?"

"Angela." The girl replied, accepting the farming contract that Hamilton handed to her. She swept her eyes over the farm again, her smile broadening as she was forced to step out of the way of the line of ducks that marched past her towards the pond. "I can't really say," she continued, her voice distant. "It's kind of weird. I just got the idea one day that I should come here."

"I see, I see," Hamilton said. "Do you have experience with growing crops or raising animals, or anything like that?"

"None at all," Angela said cheerfully. "If I'm going to live here, I'll have to learn as I go."

The Mayor chuckled. "Well, you couldn't have picked a better place to learn, Miss Angela. The crops practically grow themselves on this piece of land. Of course, it wasn't always like that."

"I believe it." She turned a slow circle, frowning at the rickety farmhouse and the huge, empty fields. "Still, it looks like it's going to be an awful lot of work."

"Oh, of course, but don't fret. Everyone in town will be willing to help you out, so don't be afraid to ask for anything. It's usually how new folks make friends in Castanet. In fact," he said, gesturing down the path, "if you'll come back to town with me, we can get all this paperwork signed, and then I'll walk with you and introduce you to all the friendly faces around here."

"I'd like that." Angela picked up her suitcase.

"Good, good! Now, I won't expect you to pay for everything up front..."

Finn climbed the rest of the way out of the window, watching the two people walk back towards Harmonica Town, their chatting voices growing distant. The cows, flicking their tails, went back to grazing. Abriel snorted and trotted into the open barn to escape the heat.

"She's here already," Finn whispered, wringing his hands. "She can't be here already. It's too soon."

* * *

A few hours later, Angela trudged back up the hill, laden with her suitcase and several pounds of welcoming gifts from the residents of Harmonica Town. Nudging the front door open with her foot, she shuffled inside, dropped her suitcase by the door, and dumped the freshly caught trout (from Toby and Renee), cold medicine (from Jin), and straw hat (from Candace and Luna) on the table next to the bag of seeds. From his perch atop the bookshelf, Finn watched as she wandered around the room: scrubbing at the layer of dust on the floor with the toe of her boot, inspecting the empty refrigerator, pulling open the tool chest to reveal all of Molly's farming gear.

"Well, good," she mused, shutting the lid. "I have everything I need to make a complete fool of myself." Walking over to the bed, she flopped face down onto it, sending up a cloud of dust from the comforter. "Okay, Fairy-Lady," she called into the fabric. "If you want to give me a hint as to what I should do next, that would be great."

_Fairy-Lady?_ Finn wondered. _Does she mean the Harvest Goddess?_

Angela rubbed her hand over the comforter, eyebrows drawing together at the childish patterns of flowers and fish on each quilted square. It was one Molly had chosen for its price, not its design. Finn loved it—and to his horror, Angela sat up and proceeded to strip it from the bed and fling it into the corner.

"First things first," Angela coughed. "This place needs a little attention."

The harvest sprite clapped his hands over his mouth as she reached up and removed the curtain rod, dumping the curtains on the floor as well. "Ruffle curtains, honestly?" she snorted. "Step one: get valances. Step two, strip the wallpaper and buy some eggshell paint." She sneezed. "...Make that step three."

It was too much for Finn. "Stop!" he shrieked, throwing himself off of the bookshelf. "What do you think you're doing to her things?"

Angela shrieked as well and dropped the curtain rod. She spun around to find herself eye-level with a tiny green-haired person in an orange tunic and hat. Even though he was shouting at her, his voice was no louder than hummingbird wings.

"You just got here and already you're messing everything up! You're supposed to leave everything just like it is! Don't just come in here and start changing everything. Who do you think you are?"

She blinked, her eyes crossing a little as she tried to focus on him. "Oh," she said. "Who are you?"

"And don't you even think of throwing away any of her stuff!" Finn continued, waving his tiny fists around. "And don't sell the animals, and don't cut down any trees! We worked hard for years to get everything on his farm just right. You won't be forgiven if you mess it up!"

Angela's surprised look shifted to one of mild amusement. "Well, this wouldn't be a very good farm if it didn't have any animals on it, would it?"

"No it would NOT!" Finn huffed, crossing his arms and turning his back on her. Despite the rude welcome, she found herself grinning.

"I like you," she said cheerfully. "What's your name?"

Finn adjusted his hat, a little taken aback by her politeness. "Finn," he said begrudgingly. "I'm a harvest sprite. And this is my farm, so you can't go changing things!" _Forgive me, Harvest Goddess, _he prayed, _but I just can't hand the farm over. It's mine. It's Molly's!_

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude on your property. See, the Mayor told me that this place was for sale, and I thought—" Suddenly, she noticed his wings. "Hey!" she cried, clapping her hands. "You must be related to the Fairy-Lady."

Finn gave her a cautious look. "Who?"

"Well, I don't know if she's a _who_, but she started appearing in my dreams a couple months ago. She's very beautiful and very kind, just like I always imagined fairies being like, so that's why I call her Fairy-Lady." Her voice drifted off, and she crossed her arms pensively. "In fact, I don't know why I think she's kind or anything. She never speaks to me. She just stands there and smiles, and I feel like I'm moving towards her. I feel it even when I'm awake. The feeling got so strong a couple weeks ago that I just…I don't know, I just sold my house and started walking, and then before I knew it, I ended up…here." She smiled weakly. "Quit my job and everything, just for some strange dream lady. She's beautiful, though. I don't expect you know anything about her, do you?"

_She was called. She is the farmer, after all. _"The Harvest Goddess," Finn said, defeated. "She watches over the land. She's been waiting for you."

Angela brightened. "Really? She's a real person?"

"Goddess," Finn corrected. Angela flushed.

"Oh, sorry. A goddess, huh? I never would've thought." She laughed nervously. "What would she want with me? I don't know anything about this kind of stuff. Back home, I was waiting tables."

"That doesn't matter," the sprite said. "She wanted you to come, and you did. She wants you to…to take care of this farm. With me," he added, firmly. "That's what I did with…with Molly. And I'm very good at it, now. S-so if you want to know anything about farming, just ask me!" He thumped his chest. "I am a harvest sprite, after all!"

"Well, harvest sprite Finn, my name is Angela." The girl said. "I will try my absolute best!"

"And you'd better not mess anything up!"

Angela beamed at him. "I'll try not to," she said good-naturedly. "Well, if this is your farm, why don't you show me around?"

* * *

He showed her the coop and the barn. Outside, the animals sniffed at her clothes when she had her back to them, but scattered when she tried to pet them. She shrugged it off, laughing.

They walked to the hot springs and strolled around the fields. Finn was pointing out the southern boundary that lined the beach when she interrupted him with a gasp.

"Holy cow. That thing is _huge_."

Finn turned to see Angela staring at the orchard. The neat rows of fruit trees swayed in the light wind, leaves hushing against each other and throwing dappled patterns on the dark earth. Towering above the cherries and oranges and chestnuts was an apple tree. It was a giant, easily twice the size of even its fellow apples, with a gnarled, sturdy trunk and thick, leafy branches that spread out over the whole orchard like a fluffy green cumulous cloud. Each bough was heavy with huge, ruby-hued apples. Even from a distance, she could see them sparkling.

Finn flew over to her. "That's her apple tree," he said proudly. "Do you like it?"

"That's an apple tree?" she asked, dumbfounded. "That thing's a monster!"

"It's very special."

Angela whistled lowly. "That's what people keep saying about this place. I'm starting to...believe it..." Trailing off, she squinted at the upper boughs. There was a brightness behind the leaves that wasn't coming from the apples. "That's funny. For a second there I thought I saw—"

Finn's sniffling interrupted her. Alarmed, Angela turned to see the sprite using his hat's pom-pom to dab at his eyes. "Whoa! Uh, what's wrong?"

Finn dropped like a rock onto the grass and proceeded to bawl. "It's not going to be the same!" he wailed. "You're nice, but it won't be the s-same!"

His distant weeping sounded like a mosquito buzz. Befuddled, Angela looked around, scratching her head, and finally decided not to embarrass the sprite by laughing at how adorable he sounded.

"H-hey," she said, squatting down next to him. "Don't be upset. I'm sure she was a really nice person. I'm sorry that she's...I'm sorry." She thought about patting him on the back but didn't want to knock him into his face. Desperately, she searched for a way to make the strange little sprite happier. "Oh, hey, tell you what. I'm pretty hungry, and I bet you could do with some food, too. Let's go back inside and I'll make us some lunch, and then you can tell me where you want me to plant those seeds I saw on the table inside. Does that sound like a plan?"

With some effort, Finn raised his head from his hat and peered at her with huge, shining eyes. She snorted into her shoulder. "I make really, really good soup," she added to encourage him. "And we can eat some ice cream on the porch afterwards, to cool off?"

As if on cue, Finn's stomach rumbled. He swallowed his tears and nodded.

Angela beamed and held her hand out to him. _Good, we're getting somewhere!_ "Okay, then. Hop on."

Finn studied her face. She had an honest expression and a kind smile. She had seen the Harvest Goddess in her dreams. It would be a while before he got used to the sound of her humming in the garden-she was an incredible singer-but she was kind to the animals and kind to Finn, and even if she wasn't as talented a farmer as Molly had been, she was a quick learner and a hard worker and a good friend. He couldn't have asked for more.

"What do you say, buddy? Want to be farmers together?"

He climbed into her palm, and together, with one last look at the apple tree, they walked back to the farmhouse.

It was high summer, and all of Castanet was green and growing.

Sitting high in the boughs of Molly's tree, Ignis picked an apple, bit into it, and watched the ages turn before him.

* * *

_The Farmer's Hymn_

_Soil, water, warm sunshine_  
_My strength is yours, your breath is mine_  
_You're the mountain, I'm the sea_  
_Between us stands the apple tree._

_I bury seeds, you make them grow_  
_From far above to far below_  
_Your bright light washes over me,_  
_And upon the apple tree._

_It towers where it has taken root_  
_I've never seen such lovely fruit_  
_O Harvest Lord, o come and see_  
_The beauty of the apple tree._

_Soon enough the leaves will fall_  
_And freezing snow will cover all_  
_My final resting place will be_  
_Underneath the apple tree._

_So stretch your hand across my grave_  
_Breathe life back into your slave_  
_So we may once again be three:_  
_Farmer, God, and apple tree._

_I'll be reborn and we'll join hands_  
_And both of us will bless these lands_  
_We'll grow together, you and me,_  
_When we plant the apple tree._

_-Fin-_

* * *

_Some notes about this story:_

_1\. Apple seeds grow completely different apples than the apples they are taken from. Trying to grow a specific kind of tree (say, one that produces red apples) would have nothing to do with what kind of seed is planted. In reality, Molly would have had to graft a branch from an apple tree that was already producing red apples onto root stock. I obviously ignored this fact of nature, ha. It's symbolism, dammit._

_2\. I know I mentioned that, during the storm in chapter four, the trees already had fruit even though it was only springtime. Let's pretend that I meant to convey that the apples were growing but hadn't fully ripened yet. :I_

_3\. In chapter six, Molly wants to make her coop bigger in order to include ostriches. Hashtag I forgot that ostriches go in the barn. Derp._

_4\. I envisioned Molly dying of a hemorrhagic stroke, which is a pretty severe diagnosis to give someone in their twenties. That's why I ambiguously blamed "treacherous genetics". I could make an argument that she had really high blood pressure and a history of arrhythmia. There isn't really a romantic/angsty way of explaining all this, though._

_5\. The cadence and rhyme of the Farmer's Hymn was ripped right from a hymn called "Jesus Christ the Apple Tree", because I am a dirty plagiarizer._

_To all the readers of Apple Tree, I am incredibly grateful for the time you all spent reading and reviewing it. You all are so kind and encouraging! Special thanks to Accidentally The Whole Fanfic for his thorough and analytical reviews and to thug_4_less for his readership and support for this story despite the fact that he's never picked up a Harvest Moon game in his life. :3_

_I hope everyone has a very safe and merry Christmas! Until next time!_


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